Samuel looked at John with a critical eye. The man had always been too thin and a bit worn around the edges. Today, he looked especially tired. Samuel realized that in more than fifteen years 'together', only once had he seen the man on the day after the full moon.
It had been mid-day and he would have been covering double Potions, except one of the brats had exploded a cauldron, requiring Severus to march a boil covered second year to the infirmary. On his way back to his office, he turned down a side hallway and came face to face with the Defense professor.
He fought to cover his shock; the man looked a step away from dead. The students were all cloistered in classrooms. There was no one around to see him grasp Remus by the elbow, but still the wolf shook him off.
"I'm fine, Severus. I just need a little rest." Even worn down to threads, the wolf infused the words with steel.
Severus left that day with the promise to himself that he would haunt that hall, next moon. But try though he might, he never surprised Lupin in the corridors again.
Ten years later, he hoped he could offer the man more relief. John needed to know that he was functioning at his best when he would meet with the grizzled academics in the afternoon. Not a problem; Dr. Crane dealt regularly with haggard, emaciated bodies, he could easily recognize the effects of dehydration. And he was still a ruthless bastard; if illicit means could aid his lover's recovery, Samuel would do it with no regrets.
"Where did you find out about this technique?" Ever the intellectual, John couldn't let it go without fully understanding the process.
And Samuel realized that he didn't mind explaining to John the subtleties of the international politics of cheating.
"I suppose we're actually cheating too." John was staring at the needle in his arm. Samuel pinched his leg, forcing the wolf to look at something else.
"Gryffindor. You've been cheated out of so many opportunities that I would think you'd be pleased that we can finally level the playing field. No, don't fiddle with it; you're almost done." John actually looked healthier than Samuel had ever seen him look. Even if the rumors had reached this campus, no one looking at John today would believe them. AIDS, indeed.
Thirty minutes later, John was stepping into Samuel's office asking for the keys to the Bronco. Wearing a tweed sport coat, he looked every bit the British Literature professor. Samuel asked John to show him once more, on a map, the roads he intended to drive to reach Helena, then pressed his own cell phone into the man's hand. "If there are any problems, call the land line." And with a nod, John was off, securing his own destiny. Samuel didn't want to consider why he felt threatened by John's self-sufficiency.
At noon, Samuel realized that he would need to do something about lunch. He had pulled out bread, cheese, and a tin of soup, when Amanda took the skillet out of his hand.
"You don't want to heat that yet. We'll need some butter to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan. And we should slice the cheese, oh, look, the knives seem to locked in their drawer." She stared at him expectantly.
"There is no need for sarcasm, young lady. You know very well why I added a lock to that drawer, but I will be happy to let you use a knife while supervised." She was nearly as efficient in the kitchen as John. Regardless, Samuel washed, dried, and returned the knife to the drawer as soon as she set it down. No need to become careless.
"Do you think John will get the position?"
"They're foolish if they don't offer it to him; John knows how to engage a class. We should be hearing from him soon, I would think."
But Samuel's phone was silent all afternoon. When he called the cell, it went straight to voice mail. Samuel scowled. Whatever had happened in the interview, John should have called home by that time. Finally, after five o'clock, John rang through. Amanda snatched the phone off the cradle just before Samuel could.
"John? Are you all right? No, actually I can't, because he's standing right here." She scowled as she handed the phone to Samuel.
His hands were slick as he pressed the receiver to his ear. "John, what's wrong?"
His friend's voice was soft on the other end of the line. "Samuel, don't be angry."
He could feel the heat rising in his face; that opening couldn't mean anything good, and from the very subtle slur and the care John was taking with his words, Samuel was forming a clear picture of the problem. "John, is the Bronco wrapped around a tree?" He wanted to be angry, but just hearing John's voice, alive, filled him with a relief that eclipsed his ire entirely.
"I have not even left the bar. But I'm here with the car. Hee hee hee... How will you get to me?" Oh, God, this wasn't good. Plan 'b', then.
"John, where are you?"
"Men's room. Everybody else went home; I said you'd come get me."
"Are you calling with the cell? Good. I want you to repeat something very carefully. 'Portus'."
"Samuel, why would you want me to say 'Portus'?" A moment later, John was sitting on the floor at Samuel's feet. "Why is your phone a Portkey?"
"Puzzle it out, Professor." He offered his hand to pull John to his feet, but even as he helped balance the man, John kept his eyes on the rug. Samuel forced himself to breathe. Be calm "It's going to be okay, John."
"Knew I shouldn't go with them, but I wanted to be part of the team. I told myself I wouldn't drink, but once we were there..."
"John, I know, okay?" He settled John onto the couch and stepped back to get a more clinical assessment. Running through his mental checklist, he felt better about John's condition; clearly John hadn't consumed an excessive amount of alcohol. Best to find out what John could tell him. "How much did you drink?"
"One glass. I swear, I didn't think it would make me drunk like this."
Maybe it affected the man differently right after the full moon. Fascinating. Worry about it later. He decided that John wouldn't need formal 'de-tox'. "Amanda, can you bring me a large glass of water?" He'd keep his friend hydrated and watch him carefully for the next few hours.
"Sev'rus, why are you being nice to me. Should be mad as an insulted hippogriff."
"John, to be blunt, I was expecting this to happen sooner. We'll get through it. You'll be fine." He hoped. And once he was certain of that claim, he'd need to figure out how to bring the Bronco home. It was definitely a Monday.
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A/N: Thanks so much to excessivelyperky for catching my affect/effect blunder. Your next round at The Leakey is on me!