Not So Sweet
Or, Part II of Not So Fast
Eulalie Moire
See Part I for notes and disclaimers. Also, my thanks to LinZE, who suggested I continue.
ooo-ooo
It was not so sweet, it was not so slow, it was not so tender. Hell, it wasn't even raw and animalistic. In fact, it just was. They were both close to dead, inside and out, and their shagging reflected this. They did not call out endearments when they fucked—and what they did cannot be called anything more than fucking—and they did not hold each other and kiss afterwards. In fact, she called out for Severus and he for Hermione when they called out at all. Thus, because he had hated Snape and she did not approve of a middle-aged man's pedophilic tastes for a seventeen year old girl, they could not even comfort each other after the sex; neither felt any real sympathy for the other's pain. No, but, having long been friends, they were each sorry that the other hurt, that the other pined after an unattainable love. So they fucked. It was someone to touch, something to do. It filled hours neither spent asleep anymore.
Remus did not resent that she saw Snape's face below her as she rocked atop him each night; in fact, it alleviated much of his guilt about seeing Hermione Granger's face above him, moving so pleasantly around him. Understand, this was guilt for Minerva's sake, guilt that he should be with her and yet not focused on her, not guilt over fantasizing about that cleverest of witches. He confessed his affection to Minerva and Minerva alone. Dark-hearted and miserable as she might have been those days, still she neither approved nor understood his lusting—and was quick to tell him so. But she also did not mind that he called another name as he came inside her; she was doing the same, wasn't she?, and Minerva was no hypocrite. Hadn't she proved this as she'd taken her own admonitions to the other lovers in the Order to not place personal loyalties ahead of the Greater Good? No, she was no one to judge.
Maybe there have been lies told in this account; they did speak to each other once afterwards. She lay against him and shivered. He asked if she was cold and pulled a blanket over her. She said she wasn't, said in truth she was burning, burning with guilt, self-loathing. Self-loathing Remus knew well, so he asked if he could help, though he suspected she would offer only her habitual "No." Instead she offered a confession in broken tones:
"What sort of person am I that I just left him there...that I just left him to...to rot there on the floor...that I just stood and watched him die...such a sick, horrible death...and just stood by... I mean, it's no wonder everyone thinks I'm heartless because I am heartless. What human-hearted, warm- blooded woman could do what I did?"
"Minerva, you did what you had to do; you did what was best for th—"
She jerked furiously in his arms, began to speak quickly and angrily: "Do not spout clichés about love and duty to me Remus. I know I did what was best for the bloody Order, but how could I? I love Severus more than I have ever loved anything or anyone. But I don't love him enough to sacrifice everything for him, apparently. I must not be capable of that kind of love. I must be defective. Maybe it's too much time alone, too many years. Or maybe I'm just a wretched excuse for a human being...that I can't love...Merlin save me... Everyone else chooses love...in the great novels, our legends, Muggle films...everyone else chooses their great loves...and I...I..."
Her fury ebbed as her tirade progressed so that by its end her speech was as broken as it had been when she began her confession.
He spent only a moment wondering where she'd gotten the idea people thought she was heartless, but didn't raise the subject. He only said, "You're not cold, Minerva, not cruel. You're only brave, too brave, and too wise for your own good. Stop blaming yourself. You've got too many problems without that guilt."
He knew it was insufficient, but there was nothing else to say. He supposed he could have added that everything would be all right, but he did not himself know that it would. If his and Minerva's friendship was built on anything, it was honesty, as their no-strings-attached fucking demonstrated; therefore, he omitted that last statement.
He might also have tried the old standby: "Severus wouldn't want you to torture yourself like this." But he wasn't sure about that, either. Severus, for what Remus considered obvious and understandable reasons, had never been loved enough, so when Minerva came along, he drank her affection as though it were the Elixir of Life and he a dying man. In point of actual fact, Remus found it entirely likely that Severus would have reveled in the misery his loss was causing Minerva. He would have enjoyed knowing how deeply she loved him. He would have appreciated knowing that he was remembered. He would have been deliriously happy to know that letting him die at the Riddle House that night had cost Minerva her soul. He would have savored all of this, Remus thought, so didn't tell her that lie either.
When sleep finally did come to Remus Lupin, he was thinking that maybe, that night Minerva turned up bleeding, half-dressed, hysterical, and barely conscious, he should have just put her to bed and let her bleed out quietly in her sleep. It would have been merciful, he judged.