Remus was up to something.

It had been hours since night had fallen, without a single sign from his oldest friend beyond a Patronus telling him not to wait up for him, but the bottle by his side and the fire smouldering in the hearth were more than enough company for Sirius right now. The Weasley children had long since been carted off to bed by their mother. Grimmauld Place was quiet.

And he was fucking suspicious.

Something was up—something to do with Snape, of all people—and Remus's ages old soft spot for the greasy fucker had made a sudden, horrifying resurgence. Sirius hadn't seen him so excited to see someone since Harry had been born. It was weird as all hell. Remus had always seemed to think Snape was secretly an all right bloke; it had been the one and only point of conflict for the Marauders (until James had started seriously pining after Lily, who had been an absolute cunt until seventh year, when she'd finally started growing on him like a fungal infection). But Lily was one thing. Snape? Creepy, Dark oddball whose parents had never seemed to have taught him the meaning of 'mind your own damn business'? That was another. And now, to have Harry, his godson, staying with the bastard—

Sirius took a long draw of his whiskey and swallowed hard against the burn as it worked its way through him and warmed his belly. It was no use getting angry over it. (And he was angry. He was angry,goddammit, but Albus fucking Dumbledore wouldn't let him go see Harry yet, let alone have him stay here where he belonged. He was angry. ) Harry was with Snape, and the apocalypse hadn't happened yet. Harry was still somehow alive. Snape hadn't whisked him straight off to Voldemort.

Yet.

It was only a matter of time before Snivellus tripped himself up. He'd never had a lick of goodness in him, even when he was eleven; and Lily had seen it in the end, too. They'd been some sort of 'friends' at first. He'd been her stepping stone into the Wizarding World, but nothing more, because Snape had never been anyone powerful or important, as much as he'd wished to be. A pebble in a lake full of boulders was all he'd ever be. Always serving, always fifth-best, spineless and untalented beyond the realm of his Potions set. A Slytherin crony. A henchman. A pebble.

And now Remus was plotting something. With him.

Sirius polished off the bottle and leaned his head back against the cushion of the couch. It was only a matter of time, he knew. Remus was good at avoiding, but he'd never been terribly good at hiding secrets. Sirius would find out what was going on.

Curiosity killed the cat, Lily had liked to say.

Sirius could only hope the saying didn't apply to dogs, too.

—

The sun had begun to rise by the time Severus managed to stop puking at random intervals. Lupin hovered uselessly the entire time, obviously hesitant to touch him again, thank fucking God. He hadn't been expecting it. He should have, really, but the sudden hands on his bare skin had—

Well, it was a bit too shocking.

And now Severus was humiliated. He hadn't had a reaction like that in years, since he'd begun working at Hogwarts and had had to get somewhat used to Albus's (admittedly infrequent) touches. A pat on the shoulder, a clasp of hands on occasion, fingers tracing his forearm when he'd appeared in Dumbledore's office in a panic over the sudden darkening of the Mark…Yes. He'd gotten used to that. What he'd made the mistake of assuming was that he'd gotten used to all touch.

"I'm not about to keel over and die, Lupin," he snapped when the wolf sent yet another worried look his way. Severus had gotten right back to work the moment he'd been capable of it and had Vanished the sick. He was cutting leeches at a rapid pace, tossing each sliver into the bubbling potion one by one, to make up for the time he'd lost vomiting. He would have the Blood-Replenishing Potion finished within the next twenty minutes if he continued at the pace he'd now set. "You can stop looking at me as though I'll be dying."

"Have you been ill?" the wolf asked, and he could feel eyes on him, fixed on his shoulder. "It does appear to be infected, Severus, so if you've fallen ill from—"

"I'm sure you're positively glowing inside, knowing you have all sorts of gossip just waiting to be told to Black," Severus said loudly, speaking over him to try and get him to shut up. Or start an argument. Either one would be welcome. Perhaps he could even coax Lupin into a duel. He'd even take a fistfight at this point. Anything to rid him of the sick, shivery energy coursing through his body. "What sort of things have you been discussing? Have you told him what my house looks like? What has he said? I am sure you've both been up late, giggling like schoolgirls over a bottle of whiskey about your old pal Snivellus. "

"I've not said a single thing to Sirius," Lupin said, and this time he sounded angry, bordering on furious. "We've already been over this. This isn't some sort of game I'm playing to try to undermine you. I'm here for Harry and his safety."

"Don't fucking act as if that isn't something you would do," he snarled, casting stasis on his potion so he could turn fully. "As if it isn't something you haven't done. You aren't the perfect little tame wolf you pretend to be in front of everyone. I was there that night—both nights—so don't try to pretend otherwise."

"Do you see me pretending?" The wolf looked as though he wanted to use an Unforgivable on him. Severus ached with the need of it. "I'm not pretending to be anything I'm not. People prefer to see a docile, tame wolf—so pardon me if you find that offensive. Do you want me to terrify the people around me? Do you want to see me in a muzzle? Do—" With a shake of his head, he sighed, "I'm stopping now. There's no use arguing."

Yell at me! he wanted to scream. Hit me! Fight back!

"Fuck you." Severus couldn't bring himself to turn his back on Lupin, who still had his fists clenched and his teeth bared. "Fuck you."

"If that's what you want," the werewolf said sarcastically. "Try not to sick up on me as we snog."

The fight left him as quickly as it had come, replaced instantly with mortification. Severus turned his head and fixed his gaze on the wall, feeling incredibly wrong-footed. What—what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

"Are you—oh, Jesus, Severus. I wasn't serious." Lupin took a step forward, moving into his line of sight. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

He was blushing. He could feel the heat in his face. Whipping back round to finish his potion, Severus removed the stasis spell he'd thrown over it and dripped billywig sting slime into the brew. His movements were too fast and jerky; he splashed some over the counter in his haste to close the bottle again.

"I really am sorry," Lupin said quietly. "It came out without me truly thinking about it. It was incredibly inappropriate of me. I'm sorry, Severus. I'll, ah…I'll leave you to it, then. Goodnight. Or…good morning. I'll go now."

Severus clenched his teeth and didn't respond. He didn't stop brewing until the sun had fully risen.

—

Lupin left shortly after dawn, but Severus wasn't downstairs to see him go. He'd holed himself up in his room, watching the wolf step out the door with one last smile and wave, and disappear down the street. There was a brief moment when he thought they'd locked eyes, that Lupin had smiled at him, too, but it was likely just his imagination. He'd always had an overactive imagination.

It was only after Severus was sure he was finally gone that he deigned to get dressed, gather toiletries, and go down to the living room, where the boy was stowing his folded blankets at the end of the sofa for later. "Have you had breakfast?" he asked disinterestedly, running a finger along the spines of the books on one of his shelves.

"Yeah, Professor Lupin made me eggs and toast." Then: "Er…Professor, could I…"

He closed his eyes and pressed the dough of his palm against one of the novels. "What?"

"I was just wondering if…Actually, never mind, I was just wondering if maybe Hedwig had come today? Or last night?"

He turned round to find Potter twisting his oversized shirt in his hands. "She has not. I'll remove the wards today to allow her inside, and key her signature to the house so she can come and go. I'm sure your friends have written many frantic letters plotting your imminent escape to headquarters. Will they be borrowing a flying car this time, or should I expect Arthur Weasley's again?"

"What?" Potter said incredulously, eyes wide behind his abhorrent glasses and snarled hair. "No, that's—that car is long gone. Sir. Don't worry. You don't have bars on your windows, so there won't be any…kidnapping attempts…"

"I should hope not." Severus paused on his way to the kitchen, whirling about to glare at the boy. "Bars on the windows? What sort of absurdity are you spouting now?"

"Nothing! Nothing. Sorry. Sir." Potter was refusing to meet his gaze, eyes darting every which way like he was under interrogation. "I was, er, joking."

"Refrain from doing so next time," he snapped. "Get dressed and find your shoes. Comb your hair. We'll be leaving in a half hour."

"Leaving?" the boy said, moving round the sofa to get to his suitcase by the doorway. "Where are we going?"

"To find you something decent to wear. Your hearing is quickly approaching, and I won't have you looking like a street urchin Dumbledore scooped out of an alleyway. Fudge has enough to focus on without having that as arsenal." Eyeing the boy with a critical eye, Severus murmured, "Perhaps a haircut, as well…"

It would be out of his budget, and his monthly payment to Lucius Malfoy would have to be late in lieu of his gas bill, but…Lucius wouldn't notice if he was a week or two behind, and he could always ask Albus for a small loan if he was truly hurting.

Well, he could worry about finances later. He needed a wash.

"Entertain yourself until I'm ready to leave," he said, tucking his towel close and heading to the bathroom to bathe. Severus took his time, scrubbing himself slowly, lost in thought as the water pounded against the tile. Lupin had been—different—last night. For lack of a better word. Whatever had come over them both could not happen again. He wouldn't allow it. Never again. It had been…been…something. Whatever it had been, it hadn't been good.

Severus didn't realize he was having a panic attack until he began shivering, water run ice cold. He turned the dial with shaking hands until the heat returned. Then, rushing to finish bathing, he half-heartedly scrubbed his hair and rinsed clean in time for the last of the hot water to drain away. He stepped out of the showering trembling but feeling infinitely better than he had in days.

Dressing quickly, he headed back into the living room to find the Potter boy curled in the armchair with a book. The sliding shelf seemed suspiciously untouched. "Are you ready?" he asked, scanning the room for any signs of disruption. He felt as though he was being watched. "Where are your shoes?"

"Oh—just a moment, they're under the sofa…" Dropping the book onto the stool next to the chair, Potter dropped down to drag his disgusting trainers out from under the depths of the couch. "You have all sorts of things under here. Do you want me to clean it out later?"

What sorts of things did he have under there? he wondered, tense. Was there something the boy shouldn't be seeing? He'd found his father's Gold Star magazines, once, back in the eighties. It had decidedly not been a pleasant surprise. "No," he snapped, and plucked at the boy's collar to bring him back out from under the sofa. "Get out of there. We're leaving now."

"Right, sorry."

The summer heat had finally died to a soggy warmth, but it was no more welcome than the burning drought had been. Severus found himself sweating almost immediately, skin clammy and cold, hair still damp and probably still hideous and stringy. Potter looked no better; he slowed down at regular intervals to wipe his fogging glasses on his shirt and wipe sweat out from under his shaggy fringe. It was a relief when they made it to the first clothing store Severus saw and stepped into the shade indoors. "Thirty minutes. That's your limit. Do you know what your sizes are, or should we stop to measure you first?"

Potter looked at him like he'd suddenly turned bright blue. "Er…I know my sizes, I think, but—"

"But what?" he said impatiently, swiftly cutting his gaze left and right to make sure there was nobody within eavesdropping distance. "You need clothing for your hearing. You said so yourself. Find them and bring them here. The clock is ticking, P— Harry. "

Saying the boy's given name worked like a, well, a magic trick: he sprung to life, scuttling away like Severus had threatened him with bodily injury, peeking back over his shoulder as if he was being chased. Severus leaned against the nearest wall he could find and wondered vaguely if he could smoke in the shop. Probably not. Cigarette smoke soaked into clothing.

It seemed as though he'd given up most pretenses with the boy. He'd already said 'fuck' in front of him now. Might as well smoke in front of him, too. (Around him. He wouldn't stain Lily's son's lungs with secondhand smoke.) As long as he avoided having a meltdown in front of him, he was fine with cursing around Potter. Ron Weasley swore quite openly, on a regular basis. It wasn't as though it would be a culture shock.

(Albus would main him if he knew he was justifying swearing around the Boy-Who-Lived.)

"I'm done," the boy announced, reappearing next to him without warning.

"Up to the counter, then. We have business elsewhere," Severus said, and headed for the cash register. He paid as quickly as possible, speaking minimally, and hustled them back out into the street in under five minutes. Then, crossing the street, he brought them into the used bookstore. "Two books. Pick out whatever kinds you'd like, as long as it is within a reasonable price range and isn't something so overtly sexual I'd be embarrassed to be seen buying it."

Potter turned red and muttered something indecipherable, and then nodded, hurrying off into the depths of the store. Severus smiled thinly and began perusing the shelves without anything particular in mind. His new plan of action, instead of ignoring the boy and setting him to schoolwork day after day, was sending him out into town to burn off his adolescent energy. He would need to wait until they returned to Spinner's End to know if it would even work. If the plan was a success…no matter how miniscule that success was…perhaps he would allow Potter some amount of roaming freedom.

Time passed quickly enough that Severus was shocked when he checked the time and found that an hour had come and gone. He'd found a comfortable corner at some point, cracked open a book that seemed interesting, and had almost immediately lost himself within the pages. Where was the boy? Looking round at the empty aisles between dusty shelves, he straightened out of the slouch he'd fallen into and tucked the novel under his arm. "P—Harry!" he called.

"Over here!" came the response, a few shelves away.

Severus found him sitting on the floor with his knees to his chest and a book in his hands. His glasses had slipped down his nose and he was all over dust. "Having fun?" he asked, not entirely unkindly.

"Yeah, I mean—I s'pose so. You weren't calling me, were you? Sir?" the boy stammered out, marking his place in the book with his thumb as he closed it.

"No. Have you made your decision?"

"Decision?"

"On which novel you would like to purchase." He gestured to the small stack Potter had accumulated next to him. "Two, and two only. We can return at a later date to find more."

"Oh. Yes, I have them both here. Is there a library in town? And could I…maybe visit it?"

Severus looked him over. The boy had seemed to have been enjoying himself, and it would be nice to have him out of the house on occasion… "As long as you don't make a nuisance of yourself, and mind my rules for once, I don't see why not," he said slowly. "However—there are, of course, stipulations."

"Stip…ulations…"

"Your ability to roam freely throughout Cokeworth relies on two things, Harry. Firstly, you must follow the rules I set. These rules are not optional. They are for your safety and my continued sanity. Secondly, you must prove to me you are trying to learn Occlumency. Then, and only then, will you be allowed out on your own. During our lesson tonight—yes, Harry, there will be more lessons—you will prove this to me."

The walk home after they purchased their books was a silent one. Mind full of the plot he'd become enveloped in for a mere short hour, Severus was content in the quiet. The boy appeared equally distracted. He'd nearly forgotten about his promise from earlier when he'd finally settled himself in his chair to get back to reading: he'd told Potter he would get his owl into the house. And as loathe as he was to lower his wards, even for a few minutes, he knew he had no real choice in the matter. He wasn't intending on keeping the boy isolated.

"Potter, stay in one spot," he ordered, pulling his wand out. "I'm lowering my wards. Your owl should be nearby, waiting."

It took all of five minutes for the tapping at the kitchen window to begin. Severus opened the back door to let Potter's snowy owl in; she swooped low and settled herself on Potter's skinny shoulders, clipping his ear and nibbling at his hair. He pointed his wand at the owl and keyed her signature to his wards, raising them back up immediately after. Later, he would strengthen them.

"Sir," the boy called as Severus opened the bookshelf and stepped onto the bottom staircase. He paused, turning to find Potter grinning with a handful of letters. "Thank you."

He sprawled across his bed with the book from earlier, kicking his shoes off onto the floor. There was an oddly warm sensation somewhere beneath his ribcage. In the living room below, he could hear laughter.

"You're welcome," he muttered, cracking the book open and getting to reading.