Love and Redemption a Snupin Novella

by BuntyBronte

An epic love story as edited by Elizabeth Gaskill with help from someone who watches too many costume dramas. Au but with undertones of canon. Desperately hoping for reviews.

Love and Redemption – a Snupin novella

Remus Lupin stopped walking and stood still for a moment, leaning heavily on the wooden fence which bordered this part of the track on one side. His tattered leather bag was lifted with the effort of both hands and balanced on the top wooden crossbar so as to avoid dirtying it with mud created by the heavy downpour of rain earlier that afternoon. It had turned the dust to sludge that had stuck to his shoes and the tops of his trousers despite his best efforts to stay clean and tidy. Breathing heavily and wiping wet hair from his face, which stung in the cold wind, he surveyed the valley beyond the summit he had just climbed; one hand over his ribs to ease the prickling in his lungs. He was grateful to see the small, stone-built village of Witherington nestled there, and above it, standing impressively on the opposite hill, the large neo-Gothic edifice of Witherington Manor. The many mullioned windows set into the sandstone façade were black in the gloomy twilight and the wind whipped the braches of a climbing wisteria against the glass. On the horizon dark clouds sped across the sky, making the scene look curiously animated despite the absence of life or light to be seen coming from the house. He was cold in spite of the thick grey travelling cloak around his shoulders and he drew it around himself as he continued down the hill, bag in hand, hurrying to beat the storm that threatened. His anxiety had been roused by the thought that he may not reach the house by nightfall and would be forced to find a bed in farm outbuildings or the open air – a prospect he did not relish. He had spent the last of his money, save for a few pence, on food in the only tavern in the last town he had passed through. It had been a pleasant enough meal – a kind of stew and bread served in surroundings that unsophisticated as they were, had a warm hearth to recommend them – but he could ill afford even that small luxury and would not have been so frivolous had he not felt faint and had cause to worry that he might be incapable of the journey he had to make.

It was with relief, therefore, that he greeted the sight described: relief not untainted by apprehension. The letter, sent in response to an advertisement in the Daily Prophet placed by the owner of the Manor, or rather his housekeeper, had been sent several weeks ago now, and the reply – a tentative acceptance for a "trial period during which it is to be hoped we may assess together the agreeability of the situation," had followed quickly. The ambiguous wording had led Remus to wonder briefly whether the "we" referred to the housekeeper and her employer together, suggesting that the former operated a proprietary empire below stairs in such a way as to lead anyone unacquainted with the incumbent family to wonder if the place was in fact a hotel, and she the exacting manageress. The alternative reading, implying that Remus himself might wish to resign the post if it proved not to be quite what he wanted, was laughably unrealistic. Why would a teacher become a servant but for desperation?

He did not resent the hardship his change in circumstances brought– there was little point. It had not been possible for Remus to teach following a ministry decree on "excluded professions" which prevented werewolves taking certain types of employment and in any case, Hogwarts, the school at which he had lived first as a pupil and then as a teacher, was closed to him now after the discovery of his status resulted in angry owls from parents. As a lycanthrope he was used to prejudice and though he could never claim that the pain of rejection and the poverty it brought did not sting, he had learnt long ago that there was nothing else he could do. A life of reliance on strangers was all he'd known since his parents died, leaving their young son in the care of a Ministry-run orphanage. His entire life had been played out against the backdrop of the disease and such cruelty that he had learned to be grateful when a kind hand was extended, whether in pity, morbid interest or temporary ignorance of his affliction. He made his home where he could for as long as he could – careful never to think of anywhere as such, because the epithet bought with it complacency and then only hurt. He would not think that way, not after Hogwarts. In this new environment he was a stranger to all whose path he crossed and his curse a secret. He hoped for no more than survival here. No thought of excitement or expectancy entered his head, though as he arrived close to the house apprehension began to take hold of his heart. In so grand a place as this his own shameful shabbiness seemed more pronounced. He looked despairingly down at the hem of his cloak and trousers, caked in mud and fraying at the edges, and reflected that he might think himself lucky not to be turned away immediately by his prospective employer – yet he so needed the job! He gathered his resolve and considered how best to proceed. Should he knock at the heavy oak front door set into an arch at the top of a curving flight of stone steps or else try to find the servants entrance? As no other entrance was visible he chose the former. He nervously raised a large brass handle, dropped it against the wood and waited, pulling himself up straight and taking a calming breath.

"Good evening?" called a voice from behind him.

Remus jumped slightly at the disembodied sound. Turning and raising his hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun, he saw a tall, thin woman in a long black dress with iron grey hair, who beckoned him sharply over to her. He hurried down the steps to meet her, framing an apology for his appearance and hoping she had not taken offence at his presumption in knocking at the front door, fearing from her unsmiling sharpness that she had. As he drew nearer she turned and marched away from the main house. Remus followed her across the front of the property and through the ivy covered entrance to a courtyard attached to, but set back from, the main house. The woman strode across the yard, which was empty except for a stone trough along one wall, towards a door down half a dozen sunken steps, which could barely be seen from the other end of the yard. Her boots crunched the gravel as she went, Remus a few paces behind her. She turned an iron key in the lock and wordlessly ushered him inside.

"You must be Mr Lupin?" she enquired once the door had been closed behind them. He bowed slightly and lowered his gaze, as befitted someone of his station. This did not meet with approval it seemed, for the woman's handsome features had formed into a frown.

"I can only apologise for my appearance your Ladyship -" he began (meaning it from the bottom of his soul, because it was the manifestation of all his woes, marking him out as one who was homeless, loveless, deprived of all human warmth) when the woman stopped him with a raised hand.

"No, no" she exclaimed, an amused smile replacing the frown, "my name is Mrs Whitlow, I'm the housekeeper here. It was I who wrote to you. There is no Lady of the house."

"Oh!" Relief flooded Remus mind. It was not so much that he had met someone of inferior standing while in his muddy garb, but her jollity which relaxed him. A more genuine smile crossed his worn face.

"Pleased to meet you" she went on. "I'm so glad you could take up the post at such short notice. I was beginning to wonder what I should do, otherwise…" She shook her head in vexation.

"I'm glad to start promptly," he replied and indeed he was.

A penniless existence had not been to his liking; indeed, he had not been far from entry to the Poor House when he had received the note which had come like a blessing from a distant protector and saved him from the privation that all in that sorry place were subjected to, in order, it was said, to discourage idle reliance on welfare provision. There was no doubt that the local Commissioners had succeeded in their aim of making the workhouses to which many of the poor had found themselves condemned in time of old age, illness, or sheer bad luck, sufficiently unattractive solutions to hunger that only the most desperate would place themselves in the hands of it's overseers, thus saving the wealthy from burdens of tax equal to approximately half what was spent on the Christmas table of many a rich man. Inmates were made to pay for the charity they received in the only form of currency they had remaining – the desperation of their hearts. Parents would be separated from their children, husbands from wives, even when the children were babies or the couples in their declining years, talking during meals was forbidden and haircuts and dress were regulation. It was this, rather than the physical hardship, that killed many who entered through the doors known as "the crying gate."

The housekeeper asked him to sit and having had a plump maid with chestnut hair bring them tea, preceded to all the usual pleasantries. She asked him about family, to which he replied that he had none and about his background, in respect of which he kept his replies brief and vague, explaining only that he had taught a while in a school but that he had resigned his position, all of which was a true, if limited account of what happened. Thankfully Mrs Whitlow was not a curious woman and it did not occur to her to enquire as to what his reasons had been for giving up a more lucrative and in his opinion, more rewarding job for what he was about to do. Or if it did, she was too polite to say so. He thought the former more likely, however, because she prattled good naturedly about the her own habits and history in connection with the house, the countryside and the various attractions down in the village (which seemed to consist of a smattering of provincial shops, a small church hall used as a meeting place and so on). It did not seem to have occurred to her that there was any other life but her own provincial existence and any ambition one might possibly have that could not be satisfied by Witherington and the population thereof. Rather than be offended at the implicit diminution of his past achievements, Remus thought it rather charming that a woman so contented lived within these walls. If he could, he resolved to be like her, though it was not in his nature to do so.

In the warm room, in the company of this kind woman, he quite suddenly felt overwhelmed by a desire to rest. Mrs Whitlow noticed this, or perhaps it was the pallor of his skin and the slight shaking of his hands caused by his lycanthropy, but she took pity on him and suggested that he retire for the night and that the tour of the house with which new appointments usually began occur at some other time, since the hour was late and she had taken so much of his time. "I think we'll do it tomorrow" she added, as he followed her through whitewashed corridors. "That sort of thing is best left until we are all at our best in the morning."

Opening the door to his room for him, she bade him goodnight, leaving him the candle she had used to light the way up the winding, narrow back-stairs to the attic so that he could use it to light the others in his room. As was usual for servant dwellings, his quarters were small and pokey and he kept knocking himself on hard edges of furniture until he had managed to light the two candles on wall brackets either side of a small dusty mirror that hung opposite the bed, above a small black lead fireplace set into the chimney breast. The original candle was placed carefully on the wooden nightstand beside the narrow single bed while he sat to remove his shoes. The candle gutted in the draft issuing from under the door and moved shadows on the wall as he unpacked his things and placed his few possessions in the wooden chest along the wall under the window, out of which he could see nothing in the darkness. In spite of the wind howling down the chimney breast and the rapping against the glass of the wisteria tree he fell asleep quickly and did not dream, except for visions of distant werewolves and the sound of their cry, though he always heard that.

When he awoke at 4am the wolves continued to howl. He started, only to realise with a sigh that it was not in fact the baying, tearing, wolf of his dreams, but the wind, relentlessly moaning and crying through the house. He rubbed his face and sighed. He knew he would find it difficult to get back to sleep. Because his throat was dry he resolved to rise and see what he could do to obtain a cup of water. He put his travelling cloak around his shoulders for warmth and opened the door quietly, in case he woke other members of the slumbering household. The candle remained on the nightstand since his werewolf eyesight was more than adequately aided by the moonlight streaming through the skylight above the corridor. He turned right towards the stairs and carefully, silently made his way down. On every one of the four floors a door led off from the stairwell. He tried the handles of each, turning it delicately in case it creaked but each of the dark corridors beyond was identical in the darkness, anonymous rows of doors giving no clue as to what lay beyond. Very well then, he would simply continue to the ground floor where he knew the scullery would be. It was while he was reaching for a mug from a cupboard under the sink that he heard it; a sound dissimilar to that which he had heard in his room. Not the howling that sent a shiver through his body, but a painful coughing, choking sound coming from behind a door at the far end of the corridor that connected the servants quarters with the main house. It sounded like the person was in awful pain, hardly able to control their breathing. Remus turned cold, his heart aching with sympathy for their agony, whoever they were. His first thought was that they suffered his affliction, though he instantly chided himself for his stupidity. One moment's reflection would have told him otherwise because it was the wrong time of the month. The moon was not yet full and would not be so for just over a fortnight.

Forgetting entirely his original desire to remain quiet and avoid detection, he moved to open the door, his only thought being to offer what comfort he could. His hand was on the knob when he heard a deep male voice issue a sharp command in a rasping voice, as if its owner was hoarse and speaking brought him pain. Quick footsteps echoed across a marble floor. Mrs Whitlow's voice! Relief flooded Remus, who had only now realised he had been holding his breath, as he stood with his cheek an inch from the door.

"Come along," he heard her say, - a pause - "Oh Heavens! What can I do? What do you need?"

"Take me to my rooms."

"At least let me fetch –"

"No! The voice was hard and cold sounding. "Do as I ask woman. Do not argue."

As shuffling feet moved away Remus cracked open the door in time to see a dark, stooped figure leaning against Mrs Whitlow as the two of them moved up the grand staircase. A pale white hand reached out to grasp the dark wooden banister as the man hauled himself up, slowly and agonisingly. Feeling there was nothing more to be discovered and regretting his impropriety in snooping, he closed the door again and made his way back up to his attic room. Who on earth had that been? He did not much care for the tone in which they had addressed Mrs Whitlow, for whom he had a burgeoning, unthinking fondness, in much the same way as a child attaches itself unthinkingly to any adult who bestows kindness. Unintelligent as she may be, her age and pleasant demeanour demanded that she be given respect and he was stung on her behalf. It was a tribute to her character that she had not complained, unless of course it was a superior to whom she had given assistance. What sort of house was this, that there was silence and emptiness in such huge servant's quarters, where callers arrived in the middle of the night in a dubious state of welfare and where there was no sign at all of any master or mistress! The oddest thing of all was that Mrs Whitlow had expressed such relief that he, Remus, had arrived. From her words he expected to find boiling chaos below stairs rather than echoing silence.

The next morning he was awoken by the sound of sharp knocking on his door, which came as an unwelcome intrusion after a night of interrupted sleep. He washed, dressed in a dark suit of clothes that he had been informed would be sufficient until a uniform could be made up for him by the tailor in the nearest town and went downstairs to meet Mrs Whitlow, who was already in the ill lit kitchen, busily directing the allocation of the chores for the day to the chestnut haired girl from the night before and two young lads of thin appearance who he presumed were boot boys.

"- so we will need your brother in attendance, Johnson; and your father too. No one is expected until tomorrow but I want them here directly so that we can make a start on the preparations. Mary, I should appreciate it if you could get to scrubbing the floors for an hour before breakfast. You feel up to it, girl?"

"Yes, m'm."

"Good girl. You two (she inclined her head towards the boys) come back here with word of your brother and Da' before half past seven and I'll see you're fed." The eyes of the youngest child lit and he immediately raced for the door, making Mary laugh and put her hand over her mouth while she regained composure. Remus couldn't help smiling himself at such eagerness.

"You must do a good breakfast Mrs Whitlow!" he said.

"It's true, it's true…though the Pargeter boys would be grateful for less, let me tell you. You were unkind to laugh at them Mary, my girl."

Mary looked genuinely abashed and cast her eyes to the floor, raising them when the housekeeper spoke again, this time to Remus.

"I would be grateful if you could polish the tables and the mirrors in the hall and on the landings, oh, and if you'd take these (she handed him a box of candles) and replace all the candles in the guest bedrooms, the hall and anywhere else new ones seem to be required. Just don't put any of these in the servants quarters or downstairs."

The promised tour forgotten, he accompanied Mary through to the hall. She smiled shyly at him as he held the door open for her.

"Remus Lupin, by the way" he said, adding a little unnecessarily, "I'm new."

"You can tell!" she said immediately, before once more covering her mouth as she saw his eyes widen in surprise. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, "I, I just meant that you didn't have a suit of clothes yet, I didn't mean to imply…oh dear…" Her cheeks turned delightfully pink.

"That's alright. I'm sure that's not the only thing that makes me look new. This is my first position."

"Is it! I feel a bit better now, though it's only luck that I didn't offend you worse. I am sorry! I'm always doing that you know…could never be a Lady's maid, you know. I don't have the manners or even a sensible head on me."

"I'm sure you are sensible. At any rate, could you tell me where Mrs Whitlow wants me to replace the candles; she said the guest bedrooms…"

"Certainly, why, if you can wait a moment for me to mop the floor I'll come with you. You can't polish marble when it's wet anyhow."

While he waited for her to finish the mopping he cleaned the mirrors in the hall and replaced the candles with fresh white ones a foot high, not lighting them even though it was barely dawn and the weather continued overcast, since it was only the servants who were up and about. She looked sturdy enough as she worked with vigorous energy and Remus didn't like to ask why Mrs Whitlow had enquired as to whether she was up to her tasks, thinking she may be recently recovered from an illness or nervous shock of some sort. After a time she stood, wiping her hands on her pinafore and beckoned to him to follow her. She led him up the same staircase he had seen the man climb the previous night and onto a balcony-landing with a wooden rail and carved supports up to the ceiling which framed a misty view of the valley through a large window above the door. He turned to look and noticed a coat of arms engraved into the central support. The letter S was prominently displayed in the upper left quarter with a serpent twined around it and the Latin phrase "ego sinus obscurum ut meus votum1" beneath the shield. He read it out loud, wondering what it might mean.

"That's his Lordship's coat of arms" remarked Mary at his shoulder. "I was told what it meant once, though I forgot almost instantly, I'm sure. "I something- something…" My Grandma got taught a bit of Latin by her mistress, Lord Snape's mother. You can see that all round the village, as you'd expect - on the church, and the war memorial and so on. People used to say they had a nerve, but they never…it was all him and you can't blame his ancestors for that, can you?"

She had lowered her voice by the end of the sentence "- not as he's here to hear me say it, Sir, but Mrs Whitlow does get angry if she hears the servants talk. You should see her. It's out of respect for her I don't say it louder, not for fear of him."

She tossed her head dismissively towards the shield.

"Where are the other servants?" Remus enquired, keen not to partake in a gossipy discussion of the failings of the owner of the house, whoever precisely he may be. He had no particular interest in the man who ultimately paid his wages. He thought of Mrs Whitlow as his employer since it was she to whom he answered and in any case, he didn't wish to fall into what he suspected was a habit among lower class servants of acting out petty jealousy of their masters through derisive rumour. It was the inevitable result of putting people whose own lives were so mean into opulent surroundings at such close quarters with those who had such a markedly better lot.

"Well," (she looked a little disappointed not to have been asked more about her thoughts on her master's moral standing) "there's only Mrs Whitlow and I as lives here. The gardeners and such are brought up from the village when something needs doing and Lord Snape's personal servants come up from London with him when he makes a visit and go back after. He hardly ever comes 'ere at all so it's not worth employing a full staff below stairs. The whole house is shut up, really, see?"

She opened a door leading off the landing to reveal a drawing room covered in sheets, the blinds closed so that dust motes glittered in the air where weak beams of light that shone through the gaps between them. The room had an air of sadness, like a mausoleum.

"You won't need any candles in 'ere. It's only ever used when the Master meets with his estate manager." Remus walked over to the piano in the far corner of the room and lifted the sheet to see a fine baby grand underneath.

"I like to come in here sometimes" Mary confided quietly, "I pretend it's all mine and sit at the piano or pick a book off the shelf."

"Do you play?"

"No. And I wouldn't dare if I did. That was his mother's, you see. I reckon that's why he keeps it shut, to preserve it how it was when she was here. 'E can play ever so well, apparently, so it's a wonder he doesn't do so…that's the only reason I can think of. Though they say music is something that belongs to the pure of heart, don't they?" she added darkly.

The pair finished their tasks and went to breakfast down in the kitchen. By the time they got there the warmth from the stove could be felt throughout the large room and Mrs Whitlow poured them all tea, which they drank with buttered toast and porridge. When they had finished Mrs Whitlow placed her hands on the table in front of her, framing a note written in a spidery hand with her fingers.

"Tomorrow evening we are to have guests. The Master has invited fifteen gentlemen and their wives to dinner, seven of whom will be remaining overnight." She looked down at the paper. "Mr Nott, will not be bringing a valet, it seems." Here she paused, looking for an appraising moment at Remus before saying "Michael will have to take that role while he is with us."

Mary made a small sound beside him, which Mrs Whitlow seemed to ignore. She looked at Remus again and then into the middle distance as if trying to recall something or reckon something up. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to valet for Lord Snape, Remus, as Michael will be otherwise engaged."

"I'm afraid I've never done that before" Remus replied, feeling a sense of panic that rose inexplicably within him.

"That doesn't escape me, but I'm afraid we simply don't have anyone else who could carry out the task. You will be the only male indoor servant who does not already have something to do."

"I...I don't wish to speak out of turn, but perhaps I could valet for Mr Nott, if for Michael to do so would be to take him away from his post?" He felt that he might be better off if he could only practice without risking making a bad job of it in front of someone who could have him fired instantly if he displeased them. The housekeeper stared at him for several seconds. He felt instantly that he had overstepped the mark.

"No. You will do as I have instructed you. Michael will explain his Lordship's routine to you when he has a moment."

It was 8 o'clock that evening before Remus finally was able to talk to Snape's valet, who found him in the servant's hall cleaning brass at the table and introduced himself with a friendly smile. The afternoon had seen an influx of strangers, all staff brought up from Snape's London town house, who arrived with laundry, boxes and lists to colonised the house, making below stairs, which had seemed cavernous yesterday when he had arrived, suddenly cramped and teeming. Mrs Whitlow was not to be seen at all during those hours, having been ensconced in the butler's pantry with a tall man, hardly older than Remus himself, so he was relieved that she had not forgotten to inform the man he was to replace. Introductions over, Michael began to describe what he would be expected to do in his temporary role. It had not escaped him that it was a position of superiority to the one he normally held and that Michael had an air of gentility through association with his master at sporting events, social engagements and so on that he could not match. He also dressed significantly better than Remus could.

"The thing to remember about your role is that it consists of ensuring that the master appears to best advantage in the world, well dressed, well served and immaculate. Understand?" Remus nodded, opening his mouth to speak.

"So" he said, rising him his chair opposite Remus "just do as you've seen done a million times before!" He slapped Remus companionably on the back.

He was at the door when Remus spoke up. "Er…"

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean…this is my first situation"

"Really? Goodness!"

Remus smiled at the look on his face, despite his nerves. "Well…"

He sat back down and got out a pen and paper from a drawer, drawing up a timetable of operations for Remus and talking as he did so. Half an hour before his Master rose he was to collect his clean shoes, his brushed clothes, his pot of tea and breakfast from the stillroom, his hot water for shaving, his letters and his newspapers and take them to his bedroom. Then he would need to draw back the curtains, empty the wash basin and enquire about what Snape would like to wear, lay the clothes out for him and remove those from the night before for cleaning.

"So I'd get to bed early," he concluded, "seeing as you're not used to it."

"Will I be expected to actually help him dress?" Remus asked, after a pause in which he tried to phrase the question delicately – for it sounded to him as if there was nothing so foolish as not being able to dress unassisted and he didn't want to give the impression of thinking his Master an idiot if it was in fact the done thing. The other man shook his head, but nothing in his face suggested the question had been unreasonable. "It's not usual unless they've had a hunting accident, or are a bit the worse for drink from the night before."

The next morning dawned far too early and the first rays of the sun found Remus knocking tentatively on the oak panelled door of Severus Snape, a breakfast tray balanced precariously in one hand, shaving equipment placed on a stand a little way down the hall so that it could be retrieved in a moment without going all the way downstairs as Michael had suggested (taking care not to place it in view so as to avoid accusations of "laziness" - that most serious of servant crimes.) There was a view prevalent among the aristocracy that since to employ a servant was to expend money on a labour saving scheme, the more labour said servant was seen to do, the more value for money they were getting. It did not pay, therefore, to get work done too quickly or to strategise to make a task easier, and ironically many man-hours were wasted with "busy work" and inefficient methods because of the obsession with industry above utility. An experienced domestic developed a sense additional to the usual five, which enabled him to always be busy when the master or mistress walked by and uncontactable whenever there was an arduous errand to be run. The views of his own Master on this point were unknown to him, but should he require proof of aching arms Remus was already able to oblige.

There being no answer at the door, the tray was put down and a more insistent knocking attempted. The door was opened suddenly on the third knock, surprising him with the scowling face of a tall man, thin but muscular, dressed in a grey cotton nightshirt under a tied dressing gown of a dark green material. On seeing Remus, the man raised an enquiring eyebrow and glared, his care-worn face not being improved by the effect, for it seemed to add years to an already old man. Dark, greasy hair framed the pale face so that when he leant forward a large, hooked nose protruded from between two black curtains. Shadows under his beetle black eyes completed the effect, though it was impossible to tell whether it was age or debauchery that was responsible.

"Well?" he snapped.

Remus hesitated, wrong-footed by this reception, the harshness of which roused him from his contemplation.

"Good morning, Sir; I'm to be your valet for the day, sir, to replace Michael"

"Hmm, I suppose you'd better enter."

The room was vast and dark; the heavy damask curtains not yet open. It was a grand room whose occupant had done his best to imprint an impression of austerity on it. Dark red walls and an intricately plastered ceiling enclosed simple but heavy furniture and there was not a painting or photograph to be seen adorning the walls. The only concession to personality was a stack of neatly piled books on a bureau against one wall. A small table with one chair sat in the bay window. It was here that Snape sat as Remus placed his tray of breakfast and correspondence, one of which he noticed with abject shock had the Ministry of Magic crest on it. He stole another glance, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, but Snape had torn open the envelope and thrown it in the fire, then placed the letter itself in his pocket for later perusal. He must have made a sound, or looked pale, because when Snape next looked at him it was with extreme sharpness and calculation.

Hurrying to remove himself from his Master's presence and half certain he was for the sack, he retuned outside to fetch the shaving equipment and put it down carefully on the wash stand in the adjoining dressing room, trying unsuccessfully to keep his hands from shaking. How he prayed that he had been mistaken! If Snape was indeed a wizard who had chosen to live as a muggle for some reason then he still had access to the Ministry and would be capable of finding out through a simple enquiry Remus's true nature and his "condition." He would discover that he was a werewolf and sack him immediately or worse and more likely, report him to the Ministry's Control of Magical Creatures Department for attempting to pass himself off as an ordinary man. There was no defence to the charge. He would not be able to contend that he had only failed to disclose the truth because he had been unaware that his master was a wizard. Of course in reality this made no difference whatsoever to things, apart from the fact that he would simply have been forced to take a knowing risk or else not apply for the position at all. The true purpose of the law was to effect the segregation of werewolves and this it had achieved. Even kind wizards were fearful of what a werewolf might do when transformed, or else of what reprisals they may be subjected to by others less compassionate than themselves for allowing their communities to be contaminated by such evil.

The tragedy was that the general view of the citizenry – that werewolves could not be trusted – held true. Remus knew in his soul that he was not and never could be a dark creature but he joined others in their hatred of his wolf form over which he had no control. Every transformation was agonising – physically, as his bones broke and re-grew, tearing his skin and ripping muscle – and psychologically, because he was deprived of human consciousness and would wake each time from his transformation in fear of what he may have done to another person, or to their livestock and pets. He never knew and never would. He could only speculate on that for which he was causally responsible and the knowledge that he had not willed the pain he caused did not help. Neither did his awareness that causal responsibility was something only humans could be admonished for (and then only because intent or negligence could be assumed.) The problem was he felt only too human, but knew equally well that he was not.

A barked "what on earth are you doing in there?" brought him back to the present. He returned to his Master's room and Snape continued talking, issuing commands as to evening clothes and at what time he would take morning tea in the library where he would be assembled with some other gentlemen, the incident a moment ago obviously ignored. Descending the stairs with a basket of laundry Remus tried to marshal himself. First off, he said to himself, it may be that the crest was not in fact that of the Ministry at all. Secondly, if it is and the master is a wizard there is no reason whatever for him to suspect that you are the least bit magical, let alone a werewolf who has flouted a decree pertaining to employment. It is almost certain that he does not spend his leisure time discovering the backgrounds of lowly domestics and if he did, how likely is it really that the werewolf registry at the control of magical creatures department would be a port of call? Honestly, his sensible mind chided, calming him with every step, if there is one element of good fortune to be had in your new life it is the anonymity of the insignificant – recall that he did not even ask your name!

But he may find out soon enough from Mrs Whitlow!

Oh, you condemn yourself to worry with your own arrogance. He does not think of you, you are nothing to him, you are lowly! Does a tiger think of an ant? Or an elephant of a moth? Consoled, or so he deceived himself into thinking, he continued with his work. He was returning from the laundry across the courtyard from the servant's quarters when he heard the first of the guests arrive by carriage. This he ignored, although as he opened the door to go back inside he was almost bowled over by Mary, accompanied by several other young below stairs maids who were crowding at the door.

"Have you seen who it is?" asked one of them, agitatedly.

"No." said Remus simply

"Gosh, I expect they're rich, with grand connections!"

One of the companions looked at her friend witheringly. "Oh course they are or they wouldn't be here, would they? I don't like the chances of your ma being invited to this sort of thing. With the Master being an aristocrat it'll be all people like him won't it…with titles and such."

"I heard that Mr Nott's coming and he's just a mister."

"Yes, well…"

"Girls! Please!" Remus raised a hand to interrupt their prattle.

They had the decency to look abashed, all except for one who exclaimed "why don't you look and tell us? You could walk across to the stables and pretend to be fetching something. Oh please!" Her hopeful look reminded him of how young she was and how concerned with trivialities and made up excitement such children were.

"No." Better be firm, he thought. If I start acceding to the ridiculous demands for intrigue of adolescent girls I might as well hang it all now. "You all have work to do and so do I."

They went, glumly but Mary hung back, twisting her apron in her hands. "Is it Nott, sir?"

"Mary, I do not know!" Her face registered a look of surprised dismay and she turned on her heel and fled.

The remainder of the morning was spent pushing aside the uncomfortable feeling that he had been deeply insensitive towards Mary, who despite being a silly girl with a head full of gossip, was kind and had taken to him when he first arrived (which he reflected with some surprise was only two days ago.) He owed her more respect than he had given this morning and resolved to apologise as soon as he could, but first he had to take Snape's morning tea to the library. The library was a beautiful room, decorated in dark wood. Pale gold silk lined the high walls which had a wooden balcony that ran around three sides of the room. A door opened on to it from one of the sitting rooms on the first floor and an intricate spiral staircase led down to the ground floor where sofas and chairs were arranged around a large open hearth, facing away from the leaded windows on which rain had begun to splatter. His hand was on the latch when he heard a snippet of conversation that made him stop…

"…not necessary that an announcement need be made; the world is divided into those whose only response would be "good riddance" and those to whom knowledge would be power that it is not advisable to give. Besides, I rather think the accomplishment of our central aim should take precedence."

"I merely wonder if there is anything to be gained, in fact, in keeping it secret. It may be that a suitably worded instruction could be useful to induce compliance. Correctly presented it could even be a popular gesture." said a second voice smoothly. This belonged to Snape.

"You mean some kind of efficient lie; that the Ministry has decided to send you all on some sort of excursion? I think not actually, Severus" – this voice was taunting and cultured, reminding Remus of the voices of the Slytherin students at Hogwarts.

"I do take your point Severus" responded another, more reasonable sounding voice, "but we have their names and addresses and nothing more is required. There will be no fuss of any sort. Things become precarious when one begins to explain motives. Never explain. The job of men such as us is to act, leave the keeping of records and the naming of reasons to history. Those who matter know. Those who don't matter need not know, though I do not agree, Nott, that our central aim is in any way compromised by such action."

Suddenly realising that he had stood in one place for so long, Remus knocked and entered through the door off the hall to see Snape and three other men sitting together around the fire and coughed to indicate his presence. When Snape nodded at him he placed the tray on a table between them and began to serve the tea. The other men at the table were of varying ages, but all looked extremely prosperous and self important. The man nearest Snape was a white-haired, thin-faced old gentleman with distinguished features, who nodded slightly at Remus, smiling politely and sat back to allow him better access. The other two were younger, one no older than his late twenties, though all had similar characteristics of nobility. Snape stood out among the group for the absence of either youth or suave demeanour. He did nothing to acknowledge him but waited stiffly until Remus had completed his task, only resuming conversation once Remus had taken his leave, bowing out of the room upon which the low hum of voices resumed.

Later that evening, once the darkness had spread and all the lamps in the house had been lit, the last of the guests began to arrive. The last to do so arrived in a carriage pulled by two black mares, which winnowed and snorted when they drew up outside the grand front entrance, from which warmth and light emanated, their breath visible in the autumn frost. Three figures got out, a sparkling blonde woman descended the step, helped by her equally blond husband, whose hair shone in the glowing light that streamed out of the doors and fell across the lawn. They were accompanied by another female, darker than the other, though of similar build. At the top of the stairs they were greeted by Snape, who shook hands with the man and kissed each of the women on the hand in turn. A few words (which Remus was unable to hear from his vantage point) were exchanged and they went inside, Snape following them. His real chance to observe the assembled party came during dinner. From his position against the wall where he stood waiting at table, his eyes searched the room for his Master. Snape was sitting between the dark haired woman he had seen earlier from a distance and the eldest of the men Remus had seen in the library. The woman was strikingly beautiful and held herself with a graceful arrogance, viewing Snape critically from under hooded eyes while sipping red wine. She raised her fingers to wipe the moisture from her plump lower lip in a gesture of mild eroticism that he had no doubt was calculated to increase her appeal to the men in the room. She also wore a low cut dress of plum coloured silk, which highlighted the curves of her body to similar effect. Snape, however, seemed immune to the effects of her feminine appeal and was talking quietly and seriously to her. She tossed her shimmering hair and shook her head derisively at something he said. He raised an eyebrow at her and smiled barely perceptibly, smugly. The woman shot him a simpering look and shook her head again, in irritable disbelief. He noticed that even though she made a show of turning her head from him, she spent the rest of the evening eyeing him surreptitiously, making furtive glances when she felt unnoticed. His eyes followed the graceful movement of Snape's head as he turned to the gentleman on his other side, with whom he proceeded to start a conversation, down the line to a man Remus thought he recognised. Further inspection did not open the door of his mind behind which the identity of the gentleman lay, so he placed the thought to one side.

The remainder of the evening passed slowly. No servant was ever able to retire until his master or mistress had done so and then there were usually a few last tasks to be performed, which could keep them up another hour or so. No concession was made to the unfortunate valet whose charge did not slumber until just before dawn. He would still be expected to rise at the same time, even though his superior might lie in until noon as it pleased them. Remus was unfortunate in that Lord Snape, as host, was last to go to bed, at 3am. As the men drank brandy and talked Remus felt his eyes begin to water and prickle. The light in the drawing room to which the men retired was too bright and he became dull-witted through tiredness. It was perhaps for this reason that he did not notice that he was the subject of some attention on the part of the man called Nott. Calculating eyes were staring through the fug of cigar smoke, contemplating.

"I have an idea that the ladies expected at least one dance, Severus" joshed one youngest present, slurring his words as the brandy took hold.

Snape, Remus saw, was the only one of the party who had not imbibed a drop, though a half full glass rested beside him. Remus watched him, elegantly run a finger around the rim. He had uncommonly long fingers, tapered and pale and the sight was oddly transfixing. The man merely raised an eyebrow in reply to the comment. Derision did not much alter Snape's countenance; since it seemed his natural response to the world around him, but the trained eye would have spotted boredom settle itself just behind the mask. This being apparent, his Master suddenly came to look out of place in the tableau before him. He was noticeably more care-worn than the others in the room and seemed older too. Not in years – Nott was far the most advanced by that measure, but in some intangible worldliness born of…what? Remus was self aware enough to know that he saw this only because it was familiar in his own reflection. In his case it was the wolf that had done that to him, taken him from the world of time and introduced him to another, where the path towards death was marked not in ticking years but in visceral pain. It rose unbidden in his head that the dark man must have either inflicted or received much, because he too had left the world for this other path. He had once read that a life of sin is easier than a life of virtue. Curiosity stirred within him as to the implications of the half-sensical murmurs of Mary when they had first met. No impression had resolved itself in Remus's head, he was sure, yet semi-consciously, he concluded that his Lord Snape, among the company, was possessed of more dignity and wisdom than the other pampered, braying young men and ostentatious old brandy guzzlers put together.

On Thursday the entire party, ladies included, rose early to go hunting with guns, horses and dogs – all, that was, except Nott. Remus was sitting once more polishing the brass when he heard a door close and turned sharply to see the man called Nott standing behind him, observing him casually with folded arms.

"Good Morning" he said amiably, "you are busy, aren't you?"

Remus was about to reply that he was, but did not. He could not get the measure of the other man's tone and didn't want to say yes in case Nott was about to make a request and it be taken as impertinence. He was surprised and inexplicably threatened by the gentleman, despite the smile and apparently untroubled disposition. It might have been, he reflected later, that the wolf recognised in the smile something of a predator or maybe it was the unusual breach of decorum represented by a member of the aristocracy, and a guest at that, coming below stairs. It was an unwritten rule that this was Not Done. The separation of the two worlds was absolute and this rigidity was not uncalled for either, bearing in mind that this was the only private space, free from the constant stress of being "on show" that domestic staff ever had. It would not have been thought rude in general circles if he, Nott, had been told as much, though it would certainly have been thought rude by Nott, who, undeterred, sauntered over and inspected the contents of the table.

"Since you have the necessary tools at hand, might I ask you to clean this?"

It was a black ebony cane with a small silver knob on the top. A zinging sound and a long thin blade, also silver, was pulled by the knob from the hollow cane with speed. He held it by the knob so that it swung between two fingers, his palm upturned.

"An old blade that my father brought back from some adventure last century. If you don't take care of these things they don't last do they?" He smiled faintly to himself and proffered it so that its handle was facing Remus, who stepped unconsciously back, for the touch of silver to lupine skin burned badly and did not easily heal.

"If Sir would leave it on the table I'll be sure to get to it" he replied with affected lightness, picking up a brass candlestick so as to make it impossible for the feared object to be thrust into his hands.

"Very well" came the response, "see that it is returned to me by this afternoon." He reached around Remus to lay the blade carefully flat on the table. As he left, a micro-expression passed over his face. What it would have betrayed had Remus seen it was not clear, but it was unmistakably a look of satisfaction. Remus searched for a cloth or pair of gloves, the cane being punctually returned. That evening Nott returned to London as the other guests bade their host goodbye and abdicated their rooms. To Remus' great surprise, he woke next morning to find the house once again empty of servants except for Mrs Whitlow, Mary and himself. He would not see his Master again for over two months. When he did, it would be in circumstances similar, if not to when he and his Master first met, to when Remus, unknowingly, had first set eyes on Snape.

Startled by a distant hiss, followed by the clatter of china on stone, Remus had awakened with a rapidly beating hart. He armed himself with a poker and strode quietly but quickly, a false sense of bravery taking over his movements, towards the commotion. On his arrival in the library, from where the sound came, he found himself staring at a man that had come to dominate his thoughts more and more, a man whose deep velvety voice and long fingered hands had soothed him, even though the words were seldom addressed to him and the hands had not touched him. The admission made him ashamed and confused. Instinctively he had an urge to be near his Master and the months away had only given time for the small regard fostered that night in the candle lit drawing room to grow into …an urge to better understand the enigma. That was the best way to put it. During his time away Remus had taken every opportunity to enquire subtly into his character and past. A solitary evening walk to the small country church had been instrumental in breeding simultaneous revulsion and regard.

Opening the creaking gate, he had walked the path through the gravestones to the wooden porch where moths flitted in the twilight. Remus read the gravestones as he passed. He had always done this in graveyards. Each represented a story. It was amazing what could be deduced from the short, simple footnotes to a life. He stopped in front of one "Henry John Donaldson 1902-1978" and underneath it, on the same black marble tablet; "Maria Agnes Donaldson 1908 – 1979, loving wife and mother" A married couple, then. Remus wondered if they had both been injured in an accident and one had lingered, or whether Maria had died of heartbreak after loosing a beloved husband. Along a short way was a tiny grave of a child, "Sarah Jane Eames 1886-1887". A baby - perhaps carried off by some childhood disease, probably one with a quaint name which long ago lost its ring of fear. Now said, not whispered. Diphtheria, or typhus, whooping cough… There were more graves too – one was of a Leticia Pargeter and was well tended, wild flowers wreathed around the feet of a carved angel whose hands were pressed in prayer. It was not an ostentatious monument, not gaudy in the slightest, but the delicate features of the angel showed that some expense had been gone to in the procurement of a suitable memorial. It was also remarkable for its newness. It took him a few minutes to recall that he had heard the name Pargeter before. It was the surname of the two boys that had been given a portion of breakfast by Mrs Whitlow on the first morning of his engagement. Their mother, then, poor lads. No wonder they looked ragged. It was all the more unusual, what with the family's painful poverty that the thing was so ornate. Only much later had he discovered that Mary's surname was Eames and that the unhappy anniversary of the poor baby's death would have been merely weeks before that day.

The winding path between the graves took him to the door of the church. A tug on the old iron knocker told him it was not yet locked for the night. The building was small and unremarkable, with wooden pews and stained glass windows that let in hardly any light except for shafts of rose and gold and green in which dust motes glinted and danced. A tattered standard hung on the wall above. He followed the shadow along the wall to a table tomb in a recess. There was a Latin inscription Remus did not understand except for the word "Snape," a numeral XV1 and underneath the date of death - 1870. The sixteenth Lord must have been Severus Snape's father. He had not lived long, dying at only fifty nine. Severus would have been twenty six. When he mentioned his discoveries to Mrs Whitlow by the fire that evening she stiffened and refused to talk about it. He pushed on, attempting to gain by observation information that he would not be given voluntarily. It was unkind really – and beneath him - to pursue this poor woman to satisfy his own curiosity but he could not keep his tongue stilled.

The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. "Sarah Jane Eames was Mary's sister wasn't she?"

There was a long, long silence. Then she whispered, "No, not sister."

Mrs Whitlow's expression disclosed more her words alone imparted. Not her sister. Then…

The old woman covered her mouth with her hand. It was shaking slightly.

Remus had heard that it was not unknown for young servant girls to be taken advantage of by their masters, or even a superior member of the staff. The infant mortality rate was high but it could be observed that it was higher by arrangement with unscrupulous and unqualified women who called themselves "midwives." His own Master could have had no part in it, without question. He could not believe it of the man. In his heart he had formed an attachment to his Master. It was only natural, he had told himself; the consequence of staying in one place and of its domination by someone who was seldom present and about whom he knew too little to gain a realistic impression of their negative characteristics, and who was always depicted in portraits and spoken of by others in such tones of reverence. In such circumstances one would inevitably find one's thoughts occupied increasingly with the person in question. After all, it was the job of a servant to turn his mind and body to one purpose, that of pleasing and anticipating the needs of their master. Yet the portrait of Severus had become a thing of fascination to him. He found pleasure in gazing at it unobserved not for the depiction of aristocratic nobility in its rightful place, or because it helped him understand the man so as to better serve him, but because of the manner in which the delicate brushstrokes captured the sensitive dark eyes and luminous pale skin, the hair like a raven's wing, silken blue-black, the nose that, though not conventionally attractive, gave the face a certain character…

He breathed deeply and tried to stop his hands from shaking. This was torture, to be so close to a man he could never touch; agony beyond words to endure an ache that would not leave him. He absently touched his fingertips to his lips and closed his eyes for a moment, imagining. He opened them quickly when he realised the mere thought was making his body quiver. Severus was staring at him with oddly unfocused eyes. The black robes he was wearing were dusty and though there was no sign of injury Remus was disquieted, so much so that he forgot to be afraid.

"My cabinet…"rasped Snape, "the green bottle."

He moved to sit on the edge of a chair, pain etched on his aristocratic face. Remus brought the bottle and, on finding that Snape's hands were shaking too much to open and swallow the contents took it from him, suppressing a gasp as their hands brushed, and held it to his lips, positioning himself behind Snape on the arm of the chair and tilting his head back towards his chest, a guiding hand curled across his shoulders. Through the fabric Remus felt his heartbeat and the exquisite firmness of his body. Though Severus winced he made no move to evade Remus's touch, but whether this was a sign of affection or simply of exhausted resignation from a man too hurt to move, he could not tell. He wanted to believe the former, but then caught sight of the tableau in one of the full length mirrors along one wall. There was nothing there on Severus' face but the blank expression of a man made insensible by drugs and pain. Feeling suddenly sickened by himself and the extent of his delusion, Remus removed his hand from where it had rested on Snape's chest and disentangled fingers from raven hair. Honestly, he thought. What was I going to do? Is this how desperate for this man's affection I have become, that I will delude myself while caressing someone made practically insensible by pain? Snape sat up suddenly, bracing himself against the obvious discomfort of doing so and Lupin stood, embarrassed.

Snape shuddered convulsively and placed his head in his hands, exhaling deeply. He stood. Remus, seeing that he could not stay upright unaided, stooped to duck his head under the taller man's shoulder, pulling an arm around him to support his weight. They walked slowly and haltingly to the bedroom where he collapsed. Remus removed his shoes and helped him onto the bed.

"My Lord?" he whispered "What is wrong? Is there anything I can do to bring you comfort? Shall I fetch a doctor?"

"No!" barked Snape, looking more fearful of this thought than his own distress. "Leave me."

Remus hesitated, unwilling to leave his Master in such a state, then hurried towards the door, since he had no wish to make the patient worse by distressing him further.

"Tell no-one," Snape commanded as he retreated. In that moment of intimacy, of conspiracy, Remus thought he would rather die than betray the man he so cared for. The shared knowledge created a sort of bond that as far as he was concerned wedded him to Severus all the more and did nothing to diminish his…regard. He knew it was dangerous to feel for such a man and that many before him had been ruined by unrequited longing for someone above their station. It was very possible that that was what had happened to Mary. Yet the instinct for compassion could not be quashed within his breast. No thought that Snape may have done wrong occurred to him, only that the pain must be healed.

He turned to leave; not wanting to look back for fear that the tear forming at the corner of his eye might fall. As his hand touched the doorknob it was closed sharply and hands on his shoulders forced him to turn around, pushing him against the door.

"Oh God," thought Remus, unable to think or to do anything but inhale deeply as his whole body tensed under the burning touch please, please. He could not bring himself to look into Snape's eyes and so found himself concentrating on the elegant fingers digging into his shoulder. How he wanted to taste them, to take them in his mouth one by one in an erotic act of devotion, worshipping on his knees the man he adored. Remus found he was a man without shame when it came to Severus and worse, that he had committed the sin he swore he would not – he had begun to think of the manor as "home." How could he not when the whole place was imbued with His presence.

"Look at me," commanded Snape and Lupin found it impossible not to obey that voice, so close to his ear.

"Tonight…I want you to understand…I work…I don't work exclusively for the ministry and there is much I can not share. All I can promise is that I will keep you safe, you and everyone else here, but you must trust me."

"I do" Remus replied, whispering it like a vow. Like a vow he wanted badly to seal with a kiss, but Snape withdrew and the moment was gone.

Alone in his room, Remus could not sleep for thoughts of what had occurred. His heart was euphoric that Severus had touched him. He would take the memory of those fingers digging into his flesh through the fabric of his shirt and keep them with him always. He undid the top few buttons to see whether the rough grip had left a mark and he traced his fingers over the thin pink welts where his fingernails had marred smooth skin. To his disappointment, they were fading already.

From that day forward, Remus devoted himself to his master's wellbeing with a fervour that bordered obsession. The mystery of Severus Snape reached proportions of such grandeur in his head that no Greek hero could compete. For all that, though, he was not a flighty person. A clue to a conspiracy had been revealed to him that night and it had come to dominate his waking moments. Suddenly he realised their implication. "I work for the ministry…" That must mean that Severus knew Remus was a wizard, or at least understood about the wizarding world. How could Snape have known that Remus would understand him and why had he offered any explanation of his actions to one as lowly as Remus? No answer presented itself, except that he had not wanted Remus to be afraid of something, but of what? And how could he have protected him?

As the autumn shed its gold and red robes to don the mourning black and grey of winter Theodore Nott came to Witherington Manor more and more often. His visits cast a pall over the house. Mrs Whitlow disliked him intensely and Mary hid herself like a frightened rabbit whenever she heard a tread on the gravel outside the front of the house. Much irritation was occasioned below stairs by his persistent habit of not bringing with him a valet, as he had failed to do since Remus first heard of him. It had come to be understood that Remus himself, now more experienced, would fulfil the role when it was required of him, as it was now.

"Is there anything I can get you Sir?" enquired Remus in an even, professional tone before he turned to leave the room one evening.

Nott considered for a moment. "Yes actually. It'd be a help if you could just brush my jacket."

"Absolutely, Sir"

He took the lint brush out of a drawer and began to brush down the dark material.

"You must be tired; there must've been so much extra work these past few days".

"I'm used to it" he lied, careful not to reveal any details about himself, keeping his responses bland, pleasant and uninformative.

"Indeed? You must become accustomed to change quickly then, having only been here a few months."

"I do, Sir." Remus could feel that the conversation was taking an unwonted turn for the worse, sensing that the other man was waiting to disclose some piece of information and judging when to do so for maximum effect.

"And we must take into account those days when it has not been possible for you to work on account of your condition, as it were. So you really are doing quite well."

Remus dropped the brush in shock, before hastily retrieving it, as if he might avoid exposure by simply appearing self confident and laughing off the accusation.

"Oh, come now. There is no use hiding it. I have several pieces of solid evidence against you, the most damning of which is your name on the registry at the department for the control of magical creatures. My suspicions were roused when I noted that you had the days following the full moon off on both my visits and when I checked by asking you to polish my silver sword you looked as though I had handed it to you red hot from the forge. After that it was only a matter of checking when I went next to the Ministry on business. I had thought you might at least change your name, you know. Distinct lack of effort, that man! Though I suppose that a muggle-born such as yourself would imagine that safety could be obtained easily away from the wizarding communities you knew of. Quite wrong! It must have come as a shock to you to discover your employer was a wizard."

Remus, in shock, asked the only thing he could think of that he did not yet know, and which mattered terribly for his own reasons as well as those concerning his fate. He wanted the chance to explain, somehow feeling that if only he could stand before Snape he could make a plea for mercy things would somehow be alright. "Does Lord Snape know?"

"Well, interesting point." Nott smiled for the first time and took the brush from Remus, setting it on the table and sitting down. "Not yet. I have yet to decide whether to tell him. You are not unaware of the consequences of my doing so?"

Remus remained silent. There was no point in imploring the man, he knew. The only possible reason for the disclosure was that he was about to request a bribe or simply enjoy the pleasure of watching him suffer and plead, only to go straight to Snape or the authorities, regardless.

"I have no burning desire to turn you in, so I will keep your secret for you - on condition that you make it worth while. I thought perhaps an exchange of services in return for my silence, a civilised contract, if you like."

"Bribery" stated Remus dully.

Nott tutted. "Must you be so coarse? If you insist, then yes, bribery. You are in no position to argue. The best that you can hope for if you refuse is that Snape does not exercise his privilege to have you killed and settles for your imprisonment instead. Not that Azkaban would be at all preferable to death, from what I hear."

"I have nothing that would be of interest to you" he replied carefully. "All I own are the clothes I stand up in." But Nott knew what Remus did and did not have; he must from the circumstances in which he found him. There could be nothing he genuinely wants, thought Remus, except to cause to see me debased and subjected to distress. That said, he did not anticipate the next sentence which clanged in the air like a sonorous curse of doom.

"Ah, my dear werewolf, you certainly do. As for the "clothes you stand up in" I certainly wouldn't worry about needing them. I will expect you at my door at precisely 10 o'clock. See that you have no cause to be late."

That night darkness came on quickly, mirroring the blackness of his soul as he contemplated his arrangement with Nott. He was polishing the gentlemen's shoes after the exertions of the day when he looked at the large clock on the whitewashed wall of the kitchen and saw that he had only minutes to walk up three flights of stairs and present himself for the man's inspection and whatever else the evening had in store. A lump rose in his throat and his heart quickened with sickening panic which worsened with every step. If intractable cruelty of the situation was the fact that Nott had made the pretence of asking him what he preferred, just to make him feel culpable, just so he will know in the future that he said yes. He had had a choice, he still did, but with one option marginally worse than the other it was of no practical consequence. To view what he was about to do as an exercise of will was a fiction but he had, he'd agreed.

When he entered the room Nott greeted him companionably and offered him brandy as if Remus had called in for a social visit and not because he had been ordered, under a severe and terrible threat, to be there.

"I do not drink" replied Remus, attempting to keep a placid demeanour in the hope, though not expectation that it would make whatever was to come less unpleasant.

"That's a great shame for you. You might find this easier if you did, not that it's of any consequence for me," he said lightly.

He sat down on the only chair in the room which he pulled from behind a writing desk against one wall. He sat on it, sprawled out in languorous fashion , his back to the desk. "Do sit."

"There is no other chair" he observed.

"On the bed, then."

This Remus did, stiffly perching on the edge and holding Nott's gaze.

"Do you know what buggery is?"

Remus said nothing. He was not shocked in truth, but had hoped for something other than the inevitable.

"I shall take that as a "yes" Lupin. After all, a man whose heart's desire is to commit an act against God with Severus Snape can hardly be innocent of such things…"

He raised an eyebrow as he saw Remus blush involuntarily. "Or perhaps I am wrong? Perhaps you dreamt he would be the one to deflower you, that you could experience the first glorious meeting of flesh and of souls in his arms, hmm?" All this was said in an outrageously mocking tone that made Remus ache to strangle him. How dare he mock his most sincere feelings? He had no illusions that they would be able to be expressed and knew them to be foolish. That did not diminish his right to them, however, or his right to have them respected. Even the most humble and useless person (and Remus did not think he was useless) had feelings, it was a signifier of humanity and no sincere, heartfelt emotion towards another was foolish. Despite that, he had no illusions about his standing relative to Snape's and presumed that he appreciated the charms of women, as most men did. He said as much to Nott, without quite knowing why he took the trouble to converse with his abuser. Surely it was pride which made him want to defend himself against that part of the charge that referred to delusion.

Nott looked surprised, which gave a slightly comical appearance to his haughty features.

"You mean to say you have nursed in your pauper's heart love for a man you did not even know was homosexual?" He laughed again and shook his head, amused.

For his part, Remus's pulse quickened slightly at the thought that this fact increased his chances of falling into Snape's arms and being held there. The he remembered how little difference it made and felt very foolish, foolish and a little bereaved.

He thought of nothing as Nott raped him.

That night, crawling into bed, bruised and defiled, Remus curled into the foetal position and tried to cradle his head in his own hands, stroking his hair and closing his eyes, pretending to himself that it was Severus administering those gentle caresses. He imagined strong arms around him; lips pressed to his temple and whispered promises of love and mutual longing. He had been a virgin before Nott had taken him. Shyness and self-hatred born of his lycanthropy had prevented him from consummating his desires and he had not ventured into the metropolitan homosexual society that to him seemed vain and preposterous. All he had wanted was to fall in love with one good man who would make tender love to him, unafraid of his condition and generous enough to have patience with one as inexperienced as him. In his dreams, that man had been Severus. He had wanted to give the gift of his innocence to him, and to submit himself to a lover in whom he could trust. Now he felt beyond reproach, disgusting and degraded. He shut his eyes against the world and fell gradually asleep.

The next time, Nott spoke to him for the first time during these ordeals, apart from instructions pertaining to the present scenario.

He scraped his fingers roughly along the scar where Remus had been bitten as a child. "Do you remember how you were bitten, wolf?" he hissed, expelling tobacco-stale breath onto the other man's face. When Remus didn't respond the hand moved to slap him sharply across the face, a jewel incrusted ring turned inwards to maximise pain.

"Do not ignore me, wolf."

Remus opened his mouth, into which a trickle of blood flowed from down his cheek. "No."

"You were infected by a werewolf called Fenrir Greyback. Since you do not recognise the name it will not be apparent to you what the significance of that is, so I will tell you. You were placed in the care of a Ministry run orphanage, yes? When your parents died. Do you know how your parents died?"

"They died in a house fire."

"Correct, yet incomplete. You are a very uncurious wolf." This was said in a mock-admonitory tone such as may be used by a school teacher who was unimpressed with a pupil.

"They died because you were a werewolf. You see, your dear, dear parents refused to give you up to the supervision and control of the ministry voluntarily. They preferred to believe that you were not a monster, you see, that you could integrate into normal society, go to school even. Ridiculous, as I think you'll agree. Fenrir naturally was displeased with the ardent refusal of your parents to understand what their child had become and saw that the only way in which to succeed in his aim of having all such as you under his control, liberated to use the dark power you possess, free of the, ah, taint, of wizardry – bless Fenrir and his anti-ministry prejudices – far to freely expressed in those days – was to simply remove parents of children such as yourself and place you in orphanages. Of course, he went too far and when lord Voldemort was deposed over twelve years ago…" he paused.

"In fact, a new scheme is now in place under which far more efficient measures can be taken. The Dark Lord is eager to have an army of ravening dark creatures to do his bidding. Their thoughtless bloodlust makes them ideal and thanks to the manner in which they were treated by the Ministry back in the days of light and rectitude (he smiled brightly) many of your equals feel that there can be nothing to loose. They obey their instinct in return for their eventual freedom, a glorious example of a species reaching its potential, do you not agree?"

Nausea overwhelmed him.

"Registration was only the beginning. Even we were surprised by the level of compliance. Severus did not think it would be necessary to go through the process of registration. He was sure that it would inspire outrage, an uprising by the right thinking community against anti-libertarian controls on fellow wizards. No such thing occurred, of course. The truth was that the majority of wizards felt safer by it, even the ones who made a show of respecting the rights of other magical creatures. Easiest thing we ever achieved."

He looked down at the figure beneath him and smirked.

"Oh yes, another revelation for you. I have seen the way you look at him, you know."

He pressed his face closer to Remus's and made his features twist into a grotesque parody of a loving expression.

"I consider myself duty bound to relieve you of your delusion regarding your master's moral standing. I'm afraid Severus has had rather a significant role in all this. He is the very last person to whom any confidence regarding your true nature (or indeed the cruelties to which I have subjected your poor abused carcass) may be entrusted. It was he who assisted Fenrir in his original attempts. He continues to do so under the guise of "assisting the Ministry". He is, you might say, a servant of two masters – as are you."

He allowed himself another amused smile. Remus only felt sick.

"The Ministry is ripe for a coup and soon he will be the servant of only one."

When he left the room, he went to the linen cupboard to find a towel for a bath. He wanted to lie in hot water and scrub all traces of that repulsive man form his skin. A sound made him turn around as he opened the door. It was Mary. She said nothing but he could see that her face was puffy from crying. It seemed to be taking all her effort not to relapse into tears now. "R-remus, please don't be angry with me" she sobbed, "I…I just…"

She couldn't go on. He helped her to a chair in the corridor.

"I was in the hall… I was deadheading the flowers in that vase on the little table because I was going to put some new ones in and I never like to throw away flowers that still have some life in them…and…"

"Yes?"

"I know it's wrong to pry, I've been pulled up for it before, but I – oh, Remus, are you really a werewolf?"

"I am." He bowed his head. He was not ashamed of his disease, it was not his fault, but nonetheless it was always an unhappy experience to be reminded of it and he felt as though he had deceived her. To his surprise she threw her arms around him, crying, if it was possible, even harder. He soothed her as best he could.

"Oh you have to leave!" she sobbed. "You mustn't stay here, you mustn't.! Panic filled her face.

"The Master'll have you reported and hauled off. You must hear them talking, as I do…"

"Yes, but I do not believe Nott will tell Snape…"

"He has!" she exclaimed. "I was in Snape's study the other day and I saw a piece of paper sort of sticking out of a drawer and I saw that it was from the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures and…it had your name on it. It was a registration form thing, you know, for werewolves. He knows!" She clutched his shoulders helplessly.

"When was this Mary?"

"A day or so ago, but the document was dated from before you arrived… I can't work that out."

"Listen carefully, this is important. Are you sure it was a werewolf registration form?" He asked the questions mechanically, trying to establish the true facts and thereby lessen his mounting distress.

"Yes, I'd swear it. I know because…" she stopped and buried her face in her hands, wiping her eyes on her pinafore.

"I once had a little girl, you see..."

She explained to him that the girl had been killed in early childhood, which he already knew, though he did not indicate it. Little Sarah had been bitten badly by a werewolf who had dragged her off from her games. She had barely survived the attack and been found later badly mauled and showing the immediately visible signs of lycanthropy. No doctor could do anything for the girl and she died.

Remus listened to Mary's words without interruption. When she had finished he gently put one arm around her and pulled her into a hug.

"Thank you for telling me," he whispered, truly meaning it. "I had no idea that the Master knew I was a wolf."

He tried to make her comfortable and immediately ran downstairs and called for Mrs Whitlow, who with his help, half carried the hysterical young woman to her room. He explained, for Mary could not, that she had become distressed through talking about her late child and the attack which killed her. He thought it best not to mention that he himself was one of that kind. Mrs Whitlow had him fetch a small green bottle from her own medicine cabinet and fed her a carefully measured spoonful of the clear liquid within.

"A sleeping draught" she explained, "it's the best thing for her." Remus nodded and watched as she quietened, her eyes closed and her head hung limply against her shoulder on the pillow. Mrs Whitlow tucked the blankets around Mary in motherly fashion and beckoned Remus to come with her out of the room.

"I think we had better put the kettle on," she said. "There are some things you do not know."

"Mrs Whitlow, I..."

She raised a hand to silence him. "I suspect that Mary's outburst encouraged in you some terrible and untrue impression of Lord Snape and I intend to correct it by informing you of all the details. I do, however, ask that you keep my confidence."

Remus nodded, surprised at the sharp and decisive manner shown by the otherwise placid lady.

Once they were both seated in armchairs beside the small fireplace in her own pantry, Mrs Whitlow placed her hands in her lap and sighed.

"I'm afraid," she said quietly, though with a tone in her voice that conveyed a mixture of sorrow and righteous anger, "there is much talk about Severus Snape and nearly all of it is unworthy gossip. I feel it's my duty as a loyal housekeeper (and I've known him since he was a boy, mind) to put right all the wrongs against him, so that you at least might get a better impression of him. I will break a confidence talking to you like this, so I ask you not to repeat it."

Remus nodded solemnly and when she did not continue added "I promise I won't tell a soul any confidence you entrust me with."

Accepting this, her posture relaxed a little and she continued. You know that Mary had a little girl who died. You know how. What you do not know is what the Master did for her. When the girl was found she was in a terrible state…conscious, more's the pity, but hardly a whole child. Oh, it was awful! One of the men from the village carried her up here and Mary was fetched from her work. Some of them said it was too bad to for her to see, that, but I don't agree. If it were my child…well, I'd want to hold her little hand, to say goodbye and all. There was a bit of an argument but the Master was adamant. He had me call a doctor…

While Mary was out of the room Dr Emptage gave his opinion that the girl wouldn't survive the…transformation, I think he called it. He and the Master decided that the best thing to do was to give her an overdose of laudanum. Mary wasn't told." Here she stopped to compose herself.

"Ever since then he has felt responsible for the death of the girl. It sent Mary quite mad for a while. He brought her here to work as a maid because he didn't want her to starve. Lord knows she wasn't in any fit state to conduct herself properly in a situation anywhere else. People started avoiding her…Anyway, she resisted fiercely at first. You see, she thought the master had allowed werewolves to go after the girl and blamed him for the killing. It was only through hunger and the refusal of anyone else in the village to show her charity that she accepted. I assured her that Lord Snape was hardly ever in residence and promised (on the master's suggestion) that she could leave us whenever she wanted without being questioned and wouldn't be asked to do go upstairs for anything when he was here. Eventually she agreed."

"She blamed Lord Snape for her daughter's death? But why?" It seemed to Remus an awfully large and unsupportable conclusion to draw from the mere fact that the tragedy occurred on his land, made all the more unreasonable because Mary was ignorant of Snape's decision to take the doctor's advice. He was sure that mercy, not malice, lay behind the decision but was not blind to the conclusions others, especially a grieving mother, may draw.

Mrs Whitlow wrung her hands fretfully.

"Mary was simply imbibing the prejudices of the villagers. I'm afraid that Severus Snape does not have a good reputation."

Remus said nothing, having formed that impression already, though without any particular memory of how he came by the knowledge. She looked at him as if trying to read his mind. The feeling was intensely uncomfortable.

"Severus has an unfortunate past. During the last war…" she said. Her quivering voice tailed off. She began again.

"He was a much younger man then and he has not had an easy life, despite what is thought about gentlemen of his station. He chose the wrong path, I won't deny…but he has more than paid for it since."

Ah, he thought, I am at last to be told what I already know. He attempted to arrange his face in a semblance of surprise in order not to arouse suspicion. If it were to become obvious that he already knew Snape was a Death Eater, or at the very least, a Voldemort sympathiser, the next natural enquiry was how and he was certainly in no hurry to disclose that. He was, however, eager to understand the cause of Snape's change of heart, which had been so complete and abrupt that Remus was sure it must have been the result of some particular occurrence.

"Why?" he asked, as gently as he could, when she had finished. "Why did he turn away from Voldemort?"

"That I never fully understood," replied Mrs Whitlow "He refuses to talk about it and I am obliged to respect his wish…my own impression is that once his father died he began to free himself of the old man's malign influence. Tobias Snape was a – well, I shouldn't like to say, frankly. After he died (the father I mean) Master Severus went through his possessions and I think he found his mother's journal and a few photographs amongst his father's things. While he was alive the poor boy was barely allowed to see her…"

"How awful! His own mother!" interjected Remus, whose orphan soul, old as he was, objected powerfully on behalf of the young boy deprived of his mother. The old woman, cheeks now glistening, nodded in righteous agreement.

"When he was home from school I always tried to keep an eye on him, keep him well fed and so on. Tend him when his father hit him…"

Her voice broke and she mopped her eyes on the corner of her apron.

"Anyway, one day he asked if he might see his mother and he was told – oh, this is cruellest of all! – that the Mistress had no wish to see her own son and that he should keep silent." He never asked again and she died soon after, weeping for her son."

Remus too now felt hot tears streaming from his eyes. To have tried to stem them would have been no more successful than trying to hold back a flood, so he did not, but took Mrs Whitlow's hand and held it firmly in his own, as much for his comfort as hers.

"She died thinking that her own son hated her. You can imagine what that did to her poor heart. When he found her journal he discovered his mother's love for the first time since he was too small to have any memory of it. I believe it was then that he resolved to become a decent man and to honour her memory by restoring the family's name. Heaven knows, if suffering brings redemption he has been more than forgiven. He gave his life to the service of Albus Dumbledore. It is he who leads the fight against Voldemort. Severus passes on information at great personal risk." She looked up at him.

Remus noticed that she now used his first name, as presumably she had when he was a boy and he had received the nearest thing he knew to maternal comfort from her.

"Every time he goes off I worry about him not coming back," she sobbed "and all those people who think he's his father… Sometimes I just want to shake them…" She took his arm with her free hand.

"You know why you are here?"

"Yes." He was here for his protection and, he decided stridently, so that he was present to do anything he could for Snape.

Some time later Remus gently and kindly took his leave of the poor woman and then went to knock on Snape's door, relief overcoming shame. If Severus knew, had always known, that Remus was a werewolf, there was no reason for him not to tell the man what Nott had been subjecting him to. He could feel safe once more, liberated from the harsh oppression and abuse heaped on him in the past weeks.

"I must speak to you sir" he announced immediately on entering the room where Snape sat. An eyebrow was raised, a seat offered, but no comment made. At length, he told the story of how Nott had discovered his identity by asking him to touch silver and then watching his reaction. Still Severus simply gazed at him from behind his shadowed eyes. Feeling an irresistible and reckless urge to press on in the hope of discovering the answer to the mystery Remus continued. He told of how Nott had explained that Severus did not work for the Ministry so much as a secret Death eater cell under Voldemort's direction, which saw to it that werewolves would be victimised through the introduction of anti-werewolf legislation.

"I see." No hint of surprise at the fact Remus was only part-human was betrayed, as he now expected.

"He told me that you despised dark creatures and that if you discovered my true nature you would have me…executed, as is your right under the current legislation." His voice became quiet.

"He told me that I would pay with my life if you discovered the truth. Or that you would simply take similar advantage…" Here he looked anxiously up into the shadow obscured face. "I'm sorry! It was wrong and unfair that I should have believed that."

The other man ignored him, though a shadow of pain crossed his face. Remus would have given anything to call it back.

"Yet you confess now."

"I have discovered that you have known of my condition since I began in your employ." His hands twisted themselves round each other nervously.

"I reasoned that there must be an explanation as to why you kept me here. Your role required you to see to the destruction of all werewolves who refused to join the armies of the Dark and to enslave the rest under Fenrir's hand, yet you were shielding me. Every day I expected to be called to you and ordered to offer myself as a slave or face death." Here his voice cracked in remembered anguish.

"I was ignorant of the fact you were acting the part of a Dark Wizard, yet I knew the laws well enough and feared that either you had worked it out for yourself or that Nott had told you even though he said he would not. I thought he might have persuaded you to let him amuse himself with me by threatening me, and then you would have your satisfaction after he had taken all he wanted from me. "

Snape's face grew hard once more. It was apparent to Remus that he had been wounded most severely by the low opinion in which he had been held. The wages of virtue were meagre for those who fought hardest against their natures to achieve it. It was a great injustice that this should be so, he felt. For how are the bad to summon the energy to wrestle their souls from the depths if they are to do it without hope of reward or only to have that hope confounded? It was a source of endless admiration to him that Snape had done so, and continued to in spite of the general distrust to which he was subject. Mary's parochial, unthinking bias against the man had given him proof of that when he first arrived. Loneliness had been the only companion to both of he and the man before him for far to long.

"May I ask what it was that changed your heart to raise me from this pitifully low esteem?" he asked with a desperate, savage bitterness in his tone that wrung Remus heart painfully in his chest.

Remus tried to smile. "It was a walk to the churchyard. I connected Sarah Jane Eames to Mary, who works here, as you know; only I presumed the unfortunate child to have been her sister…"

A pause, he ploughed on.

"…and questioned Mrs Whitlow as to what happened to her."

"Confound it! You had no business to do such a thing" hissed Snape.

"No. And believe me, I am ashamed of it, but the past is unalterable. She said that the girl had been Mary's daughter." He stopped once again, not wanting to tell his master that he had suspected him of seducing Mary and abandoning the child to negligent care or colluding in infanticide. Snape stared sharply at him the whole time. When he opened his mouth to speak once more he was abruptly cut off.

"So you assumed I had – had something to do with the child – perhaps that it was I who was responsible for the tragic incident?"

"Yes." The other man seemed to be able to read his mind!

"I confess that I had thought so. I discovered much later that Sarah died by being savaged by a werewolf; only she didn't die straight away, did she? She lingered, Mrs Whitlow said. You called a doctor who could do nothing except advise a silver bullet before moonrise…and you did it yourself." His voice nearly broke but he gathered his courage.

"You did it yourself because you wanted to see that it was done to alleviate suffering. You didn't even tell Mary…"

"Would you have had me tell her?" he responded angrily, pacing now. "What good would it have done? Do you think so meanly of her that you would have had her make that decision, to kill her own child when a mother's instinct cries out to protect it, or to let it live in agony, bitten so badly it was unlikely to survive the moonrise and have the strength to transform back? I gave her mercy, her and the child, as best I could!"

"I understand."

"You can not possibly understand!" he screamed in aguish, turning away so that his back was to Remus and his elbow rested on the mantle above the fireplace. .

"You kept Mary here under your protection and honoured the memory of the child. You gave her an angel to watch over her girl," Remus smiled again though his eyes blurred with tears, "and all this without telling a soul."

"That's when I learned what sort of man you are. I knew then that I faced no danger from you. I discovered all this when Mary came to find me, having overheard Nott making a speech about how I was lucky, as a werewolf, that he had not revealed my identity to you. She was distraught that I was suffering and thought it suitable to warn me that I had best leave before you discovered my lycanthropy and did something unspeakable. She had overheard the conversations you had had with the Ministry men about werewolf segregation, you see. She told me about her daughter though without several important facts, of which she was not aware."

"She has a knack, it seems, for listening at doors."

"Please don't reproach her. There's one thing I do not understand, however. Sir, if I might enquire, why did you not explain yourself? You allowed yourself to be slandered by those to whom you had given help at the expense of your own peace of mind. I can think of no reason for it."

"I do not seek approval."

"Then you are the only creature in this world that does not care for it, and an odd sort of man it makes you, if you'll forgive me."

"I will not. What is it to me whether or not I am approved of by prattling servant girls?"

"It is a great deal to me!" The words erupted from his lips before he had time to consider them. If he had, he would certainly not have been so forward.

Remus fell silent, flushing pink and turning his gaze to his Master, who stood with his back to the window though which nothing could be seen except inky midnight and the reflection of quivering candle flames that cast a soft light over the two men. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the dull thud of the second hand of a marble clock on the table.

"My reputation is of no consequence. I brought you here in the hope that I might offer you protection behind these walls," said Severus quietly. "I have failed you."

He turned to face Remus, grief visible on his pale countenance.

"No." Remus stood and moved to his side, instinctively obeying the urge to be near him. Boldly, unthinkingly, he placed a hand on Severus's angular shoulder, taking an elegant hand in his other one and pressing it to his own heart. "You have given me a home for the first time since I was a small child. Through your blessed intervention in my poor and wretched existence I have come to believe for the first time that I may truly deserve and find happiness! Please do not reproach yourself for awakening my soul to love!"

His eyes shone bright with emotion and he bent to kiss the hand in chaste worship, pressing his lips to smooth skin and holding them there, frightened but unashamed.

He lifted his head only when he felt the gentle touch of a hand in his hair. He gasped when he saw an unknowable intensity spark in Severus's dark eyes. Severus brought the back of his hand down over Remus' burning cheek. Remus, for his part, turned his head to better enjoy the silken touch, rubbing his cheek against his hand and brushing slightly parted lips against elegant fingers as they slid down to his collar and withdrew. Remus let go of the hand against his chest, caught the other one in both of his and, staring deep into the black depths of his dark angel's eyes, kissed the palm. Severus gasped almost inaudibly. Taking heart from this small sign of assent, Remus pushed back a white cuff to stroke his inner wrist with a gentle finger, trailing kisses after the touch. He rested his lips against Severus's pulse and felt the blood beneath the skin, calling to him, awakening him to the effect his uncertain touch was having on such a worldly man.

Severus suddenly looked paler even than before and Remus realised it was his ministrations which had inspired the reaction.

"Why did you stay?" he asked.

Remus simply looked at him questioningly.

"When Nott began…touching you as he did, why didn't you leave this house?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," whispered Remus, smiling softly, "I was simply too in love to leave you, whatever I had to endure to be at your side."

Guilt and surprise marred Snape's noble features, but there was a light in his eyes that simply burned. Emboldened, Remus moved to lick his index finger, taking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, closing his eyes to better memorise every contour. Severus curled the digit around his tongue as he sucked, causing Remus to moan lasciviously. Eyes still closed, he felt warm breath on his face and then soft lips sucking gently at his own. Even as Remus continued to caress his finger, Severus forced entry into his mouth, expertly running his tongue around Remus' palate and sliding it against the other man's tongue. The sensation was incredible, almost unbearably erotic. The finger was withdrawn and Severus held Remus' head in his hands, pressing their mouths together hungrily and plunging his tongue deeper and deeper. Remus reciprocated willingly, his muffled moans encouraging the other. His hands, which had been curled around Severus's wrists at his neck, moved of their own accord to encircle his waist, holding their bodies together. With one arm he held Severus to him, while mapping the contours of his back and broad shoulders through his shirt with a flat palm.

They broke apart only when the need for air overcame them. Remus buried his face in his Master's neck.

"Oh God," he half murmured, half sobbed, clinging tightly to the hard body, "oh dear God."

An insatiable hunger had suddenly been unleashed in him. It hurt, his whole body ached with desire like it never had before and the only cure, the only relief, was the touch of Severus Snape. His lips found the other man's throat and he fell, boneless, to his knees, taking Severus's hand, wordlessly begging to be touched, taken, and devoured. Anything to end the agony of longing that had gnawed at his soul for far too long. His breath came in painful gasps and his hands shook. Severus stared down at the prone man at his feet, seeing only charm and beauty in the worn face and slender frame. He knew what Remus desired and burned to give it to him, but he could not. He could not in good conscience convince himself that to take the handsome man to his bed and worship him with his body for one night or all the nights to come would be enough to alleviate the danger of an entanglement with one as dark and unworthy as himself. If he lived, which he thought only moderately likely; he could not subject Remus to the heartache of knowing what he had done and feeling guilty to have associated with such a monster, let alone shared a bed. And if Remus could stand the pain, he knew he could not. He forced himself to be still and not to scoop the wolf into his arms and lay him on satin sheets, before claiming him every way he could think of until the dawn rose over them.

"I am afraid I cannot give you what you want," he said as he withdrew his hand, his old haughteur returning, despite the fact that moments ago he had been as breathless as Remus. It was all he could do to stop his voice braking with desire and mingled sorrow. Remus looked as if he had been slapped. He had been so sure. True, he had never been kissed before Severus took him into his arms but still, he knew without doubt that something powerful had drawn them to each other. Severus had kissed him with eloquent fervour that could not lie. He felt sure he knew the truth.

"Severus, please…" he implored

"I mean it. It would not do for there to be anything between us. For God's sake, you're a wolf!"

Remus reeled as if he'd been struck. Severus hated himself and wanted nothing more than to take it all back immediately. The gathering pain in the eyes of one he so loved tore at his heart, but it could not be any other way.

Remus stood.

"I know who you really are." he said again, trying to stay calm and stepping closer.

"I know that you have risked everything to save me. I know that you are a double agent and that your true allegiance is with those who would fight Voldemort and the Ministry by his side. I know that every day you risk your life to absolve yourself of youthful sin and I know, I know, you are not Theodore Nott. I want to be beside you. I know we must meet in secret and that you must always deny me when we are not alone, but I will bear that. I daresay that in a life so little blessed by love I could even get used to being merely your bed partner, but I will not leave you. Take the happiness offered to you, please. Even if physical release is all I can give you. Let me do that at least!

"No. You said not a moment ago that I was not Theodore Nott. I will not use you as he has. I have committed enough sin, as you say, without being your ruin."

"At least let me be master of my own fate. If my heart is broken, let me have something to show for it. As it is, it is broken without reason."

Severus looked defeated. In a life just as empty of warmth as Remus's a moment's peace and pleasure was more than he could refuse, though he cursed his weakness.

Remus once again approached him, wrapping his arms tenderly around the taller man and holding him silently for a long moment. Then it was his turn to reach up and cup his lover's face in his hands. "I have wanted this for too long," he whispered, smiling shyly. "Do you know when I first fell in love?"

Severus shook his head.

"Do you recall the night of the party you held here for the Ministry? It was then. You looked so delectable in evening dress, every inch the noble creature I knew you to be."

Severus almost laughed and bent his head to once again capture Remus's mouth. This time the kiss was long, deep and smoothly decadent, but less hurried. Severus took control and lazily explored Remus mouth, stroking and teasing. Remus trembled a little and held him tighter; it was getting cold in the large room.

"Make love to me" Remus whispered.

Black eyes bored into his. "Are you sure?"

"Oh yes."

Severus placed his arm around the other man and walked with him through to the bedroom, Remus' head resting on his shoulder. Once Severus closed the door they kissed again, and Severus led him by the hand to the bed, sitting down and pulling him with him. They shared another kiss.

"Oh, my angel," signed Remus, "be my first."

Severus seemed to pause; Remus could tell what he was thinking. "I don't want to think of him. I want it to be you. I always wanted it to be you. That's why I'll never forgive him, he took what was yours."

Severus was exactly the lover Remus had fantasized about; gentle, tender, passionate and generous beyond belief. He seemed intent on making the pleasure last as long as possible, undressing Remus slowly and reverently, kissing every newly uncovered inch of skin as the candles in the room burned lower. Fingers undid the buttons of his shirt as Severus pushed him back on the bed, kissing a burning column down his chest. His hair brushed over Remus exposed skin, enlivening his nerve endings and sensitising him to the gentle ministrations of his new lover. Remus plunged his hands into raven locks, running his fingers through silken strands.

"So beautiful…" he muttered, half to himself, gasping when Severus bit one of his nipples. He arched up, begging for more, his manhood hardening by the second. Instinctively he reached down to take hold of himself and ease the almost painful arousal. Severus caught his hand in a tight grip and pushed it, along with the other, roughly up above his head, positioning the fingers so they held the bedpost and squeezing to indicate that Remus should not let go.

"Remember," he said huskily, "tonight it is for me to give you pleasure. Do not deny me."

The sound of that voice sent a shiver through him. It carried an undertone of danger that Remus found unspeakably erotic. His breathing became ragged as Severus squeezed his erection trough his trousers. Then, before Remus realised what he was about to do, Severus removed them, freeing his hard member. His cheek grazed the burning flesh as he bent to worship, languidly stroking his inner thigh with one hand while alternately biting the sensitive flesh of the other and soothing it with his tongue. He kept Remus's sensations veering disorientating between pleasure and pain. Remus found that it mattered not which his lover chose to bestow, as long as he could feel the consoling touch, like benediction for his soul.

"Oh darling, yes," murmured Remus deliriously, his head thrown back, "oh please…I need, I…oh!"

In a second Severus was on top of him, pressing him hard into the mattress with his muscular body, his hands gripping Remus's so tight that the carvings on the bedstead dug painfully into his flesh.

"What?" he growled through clenched teeth "Tell me now, damn you!"

His eyes widened in shock at the sudden aggression. He was afraid, yet thrilled by this dangerous passion, unbridled and unquenchable. He yearned to belong to Severus utterly, to be obliterated and reborn in his arms, to exist only for the sensation, to give and to receive. He thought it may be possible to endure any hardship if only for these moments of divine bliss. Words could not express all that he felt. He had never been loved. He had no memory of it.

"Sweetheart" he whispered, "my greatest desire is that I should bring you comfort. I would gladly lie bound in silver chains if it would bring you a moment's pleasure and consider myself blessed. Only free my hands so I can touch you."

Relenting, Severus did, closing his eyes for a long moment and resting his forehead against Remus's shoulder. He whispered a spell and Remus felt oiled fingers against his opening, pushing gently inside. The sensation was wholly new and he bit his lip to avoid crying out in discomfort until he felt long fingers stroke the most sensitive place inside him. His whole body arched convulsively upwards against his lover, his fingers digging into Severus's shoulders. Hungry lips sought his own.

"I can't hold on much longer" he breathed into Severus's mouth.

"Then don't."

Remus thrust upwards again and Severus let out a ragged groan.

"Take me" Remus begged, his eyes locked with his lover's.

Severus did, sheathing himself in one movement in the tight heat. For a moment neither of them moved, then as Remus became used to the exquisite feeling of the velvet encased steel stretching him he ground his hips upwards. He found Severus's right hand and entwined their fingers, gripping tight when the other man began to move slowly inside him, relentlessly hitting his prostate while raking his fingernails down Remus's chest towards his cock, which he stroked in rhythm with his thrusts, rubbing a thumb over the leaking head. It was almost too much to bear. The agonisingly slow pace was driving him wild, delirious with pleasure and longing. He needed to be closer to Severus, to wring every sensation from the moment and memorise it so that he could keep it in his heart and carry it with him. Tears filled his eyes. He couldn't do it, the love he felt was too searing, too deep for words, inexpressible. He was afraid that Severus would not understand. Suddenly he was gripped by fear that the man inside him would leave him, deserting him having made him vulnerable to merciless touch.

He wrapped his legs around Severus' waist and snaked a hand down to the firm buttocks, squeezing hard and using all his strength to urge him deeper. Severus moaned then, actually moaned.

"Harder" Remus implored hoarsely, "oh dear God…harder! More! "

And Severus complied, thrusting into him with brutal force, over and over again; sweat beading on his forehead, sticking his hair to his face. Lupin lifted his hand from Severus's succulent arse to brush it away reverently. He looked beautiful beyond words and Remus was seized by admiration and a desperate urge to know what he longed and feared to know.

"Stop, please stop!"

Severus did so immediately, concern and surprise marring his features. He pulled out so quickly Remus had no time to react and pushed himself off the other man as if burned.

"Forgive me" he said haughtily, rising form the bed. "I had no intention of coercing you. I would not wish you to feel compelled to submit your flesh to someone who so clearly repulses you." His back was to Remus. He now sat on the side of the bed, pulling his robe around him. There was vulnerability about this gesture that clutched at Remus's heart. He pushed himself up onto his arms, his reactions slowed by the drugging effects of the leisurely caresses and gentle intensity that had gone before.

"Severus…" he began gently, reaching out to reassure himself as much as Snape.

"Do not touch me" he said stiffly, and then more quietly, "I am not my father."

A small hitch of breath followed this statement.

"Love," Remus soothed, "I have no idea what sort of man your father was, but you should know right now that I love you. I have never given my heart before, as I have said, and I would never have done so now if I was not absolutely certain that I adore you. When I asked you to stop it wasn't because I was rejecting you (he spread his hands in supplication) but because I simply wanted…" here he stopped, feeling that what he had intended was ridiculously romantic and would not be understood, yet he had so needed to hear the precious words, to remind himself that it was real.

"Yes?" he spat harshly.

"I simply needed to ask you something, to know whether…whether you…before I gave myself to you." Remus was so embarrassed he wanted the floor to swallow him up.

Severus, for his part, had turned to look at Remus, whose voice was quivering and was watching and listening intently. "What did you want to know?" he asked more gently.

"Whether you might possibly –"

"Yes?"

"- feel any…attachment towards m...me."

He blushed fiercely and lowered his eyes. Of course not, how could he have been so foolish! Then, miraculously, in the midst of his mortification he felt fingers once again grip his jaw. He raised his eyes to the captivating face and Severus moved slowly closer, engaged him in another kiss, if possible more passionate than those that had gone before, devouring his mouth and crushing lips and tongues together in a white hot duel of passion. Remus delighted in the feeling of all consuming fervour as his body was crushed beneath his lover's taut, muscular torso. He had his answer.

He tasted blood in his mouth and revelled in the metallic tang, not knowing or caring whose it was. Severus re-entered him sharply and took him hard and fast, mercilessly pounding into him, eyes closed, breathing harsh, teeth bared. Remus felt the exquisite thrill of orgasm rush through his veins, sending a gushing flood of ecstasy coursing through every nerve. He tensed, eyes closed and head thrown back. His back arched and his fingers dug into the buttery skin of the other man, drawing blood.

"I love you!" Remus cried as he came, tears forming at the corner of his eyes, "I love you, I love you, I love you..."

He repeated the words like a litany, almost sobbing with unbearable elation. The responsiveness of the man beneath him brought Severus with him to the peak of ecstasy. He watched as an expression of pure bliss settled across the pale features, making him seem so much younger and more carefree than he ever had before. He collapsed on top of Remus, who still clung to the sweat-dampened body, not moving his legs from around Severus's waist and tightening his arms around his neck. Remus pressed a kiss to his throat, nuzzling gently. Remus was grateful for what they had shared and unashamed of how much it meant to him. They lay like that for almost a quarter of an hour, silent, shivering with the aftershock of orgasm and clinging to each other as candle flames made shadows move over naked flesh and the clock ticked quietly. All the while Severus's long fingers stroked soft skin in gentle, loving benediction.

Eventually they fell asleep.

It was 4am when Remus woke, roused by the sound of rain hitting the windowpanes fiercely. They had shifted in sleep so that Remus awoke to find Severus curled on his side under the bedclothes. His own body was spooned against him with one hand draped possessively across his waist, his cheek resting against the smooth back. Remus made a small wordless sound of contentment and snuggled back down into the warmth. He was drifting off again when he felt a hand squeeze his. Not a word was said, Remus was not evens sure whether the other man was awake. He simply squeezed back and whispered "I love you."

The next morning he opened his eyes to find himself in Severus's large bed. After a moment in which he sought to recall how he had come to be there he sighed blissfully and reached a hand across the white expanse, intending that it should connect with the flesh he had so eagerly claimed the previous evening. He wondered idly whether Severus' shoulder still bore the marks of their frantic lovemaking. He looked forward to soothing any bruises with a caress….At least he would have, but his questing hand found nothing. His lover of only hours was not beside him. He sat up abruptly and found no sign of him except for a note. Picking it up, Remus was not immediately distressed. He began to read…

"My dear Remus,

This letter is written by one whom, while never an innocent man, has most likely, in the intervening period between the writing and reading of this letter, fallen to depths unimaginable to someone as morally pure as you, my angel. I left you this morning to undertake the task of protecting another, the consequence of which may be an act of sacrifice made all the more unbearable because it will be I who must receive rather than give it. I can not express my sorrow that I must leave you, having taken from you far more than I had any right to. It was from weakness for which I shall ever reproach myself that I took you to my bed last night and though I might pretend that I did so out of a desire to give comfort to you who begged so sweetly for my attentions, this is not true. It was cowardice pure and simple which led me to seek a moment of warmth that I did not deserve. My life is over though I still breathe. There is no hope of redemption for sins so great and so many. Forget me, Remus, I beg you. If you love me, take back your soul and pass its fragile weight into the hands of someone better able to honour it. If you hate me once you hear what has became of me I do not ask forgiveness. I will not take yet more to which I have no right.

Yours ever,

Severus S Snape

The tears in his eyes fell onto the parchment, blurring the spiky writing. "I don't understand" he thought, re-reading it, "all I want is him. Whatever he has had to do, I seek nothing from him but his love. Oh, he must be in torment!" Grief washed over him in an engulfing wave, suffocating him with tears. Oh to have happiness snatched so suddenly, so soon after it had been won! Unable to rise, he slumped back down, pulling a pillow from the other side of the bed and burying his tear-stained face in the material, hoping to be comforted by his scent, so recently learnt, and by his warmth, a little of which remained.

It took little time for news of Snape's disappearance to reach the household. Mrs Whitlow had received a note, similar in tone, though less ardent than the one he himself had received, informing her that he had found it necessary to leave for ever Witherington Manor and that he hoped that she would not despise him for unnamed sins but did not think of asking forgiveness. Enclosed was a substantial sum of money and instructions for the payment of wages outstanding and so on, plus details of legal arrangement he had made for the protection and support of named people in the village. The list was long and included the Pargeter family, he noticed. It was then that he almost lost control of his emotions – seeing evidence of such capacity for kindness in someone who spoke of themselves in such negative terms, as though beyond redemption. The letter was touching, far more heartfelt and emotional than one would expect of correspondence from an employer to an employee, it was almost like that of a son to his mother. Mrs Whitlow turned away when she finished reading it, a shaking hand covering her mouth in order to hide her trembling lip. It was useless, however, because she could not stop a flow of hot tears, which trickled unchecked down her lined cheeks nevertheless. Remus knew that Mrs Whitlow had been a stalwart source of support even when his master was reviled by others or himself and that her heartbreak came more from the fact that she was made helpless to assist by his decision not to confide in her than any fear of what may happen to her as an elderly woman sent out from her home into a community that, if Snape's dire forebodings had been true would doubtlessly be unwelcoming once his crime or error had become the subject of village news. He put his arm around her and the two of them comforted each other united in sadness. Though she had not known of their affair – which had been so short and consummated so recently that it was no surprise – she had known of his regard and affection. For this reason, she allowed his to be near her at this moment and seemed to draw strength from it. A few days later, however, and Remus Lupin once again packed his belongings, as did all the members of this once intact household, to leave behind him a home, a love and a life, the endless joyful possibilities of which would never now be realised.

Despite the protests of Mrs Whitlow, who begged him to go with her to live in the village and seek work there, Remus found it unbearable to live in the shadow of his memories and kissing her tearful cheek in goodbye took his leave. He had one last wonder through the darkened, white cotton shrouded rooms before he left, taking only a single photograph which he removed from its precious frame and slipped into his breast pocket near his heart. It was removed, finally, and turned to the pitiful embers in the austere hearth of the poor house where he died only four months later - utterly alone except for a gin soaked matron of the establishment - of what the coroner noted as "exhaustion, possibly preceded by some sort of nervous shock." He did not live to see the capture and execution following trial of Severus Snape for the crime, reported in the newspapers not long before he died, of murdering the wizard Albus Dumbledore.

The End

1 "I bend darkness to my will"