Finding Love

Title: Finding Love
Author: MaraudersWolf
Archived: On the lupin_snape community in LiveJournal. Contact me if you would like to see it posted elsewhere.
Rating: R
Challenge: Fantasy Fest 2007; Story Prompt 8: Snape has an embarrassing secret and is willing to do anything to make sure Remus doesn't tell. R takes full advantage (smut preferred!) - but happy ending would be great.
Pairings/Characters: Lupin/Snape (pairing); brief visits by Fawkes, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick and Pomfrey.
Summary: Severus knows where his comfort is, but he hasn’t found love, until it comes to him.
Disclaimer: The characters, setting and anything else recognizable as the work of JKR belongs to her, not me. I’m just using an overactive imagination with the guys.
Warnings: Um . . . definitely not fluffy. Most definitely angst. Extreme angst. Drinking alcohol is also involved.
Notes: Thanks to maraudersaffair for the encouragement and beta assistance – see what you’ve started! This is my first-ever fanfic piece to be seen by others – pardon me while I run back to my cave! *goes off to hide from people reading*


He wanted to be back in the dungeons, his place of comfort. He wanted the familiarity of the cold, stone walls, the meticulously ordered shelves and bookcases housing his craft. He wanted the darkness of chambers, the dim lighting of his laboratory and the solitude each contained. He pictured the cauldrons neatly stacked against the wall, the spotlessly clean worktable with his spoons, knives, ladles and other tools just waiting for their use. It was his space and his alone; no one would disturb him.

Yet, here he was at this symposium with the other professors. The bright lights of the convention hall frequently blinded him as he sat on chairs that no cushioning charm would soften. The presenting speakers, touted as the best in their respective fields, droned on without providing anything useful. Witches and wizards crowded around him, irrespective of his distaste for their physical presence and their annoying chatter of gossip. He wanted nothing better than to leave this personal hell. That, however, would not be possible at the moment. Dumbledore insisted he join himself and the others in the evening’s social festivities.

The crowd had spilled over to the pub after the day’s lectures were done. Lively conversations flowed around him as he sipped his butterbeer at the bar. He made the requisite small talk with those who approached. He talked about Hogwarts, the students he taught and their utter inability to grasp the fundamentals of potion-making. He was not a social person. This was not a place of comfort. This was far from it. He watched, waiting patiently for the right moment to escape.

The woman next to him at the bar – Sara, Serena, something like that – prattled on about being a Healer at St. Mungo’s. Healer – bah! he thought. He had no empathy for the woman.

“I’m sorry, but no,” he quickly said at her suggestion of going somewhere else. “I’m afraid it will not work.” He stood, dropping some sickles for his drink. “Thank you for your time, but no.” Silently, he left the noise of the pub for the quiet of the nighttime streets of Diagon Alley.

Severus tried to ignore the feelings that were rising, but he couldn’t. He knew he was sent to these symposiums not for the sharing of knowledge, but for other, personal reasons. “The damn fool!” he muttered. “Why can’t he leave well enough alone?! When did I become his little project?” He stopped and sighed, knowing the answer.

It was to Albus that he owed much. Albus had helped him to refine his Occlumency skills, allowing him to be a spy for the Order. Albus had fought for his release from Azkaban and employed him when no others would. Albus had become that trusted figure in his life, taking the place a parent should have held. It was his deep respect for the man that made him agree to these “social” excursions.

Pulling his cloak tighter, he resumed walking. His pace slowed slightly as he strode into Knockturn Alley, his comfort level rising as the dim lighting embraced him. He preferred darkness; it was easier to hide in. In the light, flaws and imperfections were seen. In the dark, they were hidden. Shadows lurked and moved as he did, though he scarcely noticed. The silence was broken only by the muted whispers of passerbys with their own business.

His destination, The Den, was a nondescript building at the end. The name was crudely written over the deep gouges in the wooden door. The windows were covered with a thick film of dirt and smoke. Inside, the decor matched its nondescript appearance. Smoke hung in the air, clouding both sight and smell. The bar ran along one wall, the mirror behind it as filthy as the windows. Tables dotted the open floor, candles flickering sparsely. A small stage rose up at the back of the room. Booths hid in the shadows opposite the bar.

He slid his cloak off and flung it to an empty booth as he approached the bar. “Firewhiskey,” he quietly ordered, standing at the bar.

“Hey, baby,” a sweet, sugary voice purred on his right, “care to-”

“No,” he curtly said, “I do not.” He took the glass from the bartender and proceeded to the booth, ignoring the sputtering of that woman and the snickers of the others like her.

He sipped his drink, feeling the burn down his throat bring him some of the comfort he sought. He had never conformed to society’s rules and expectations. Life was full of pain; that was all he knew. Love was for fools. No woman would ever love him – his mother never had. McGonagall, Sprout, Pomfrey and others may have a grudging like of his skill as a Potions master, but there was no love for him.

He felt the undercurrent of magic flowing as he downed the remainder of his drink. He motioned for another as soft music reached his ears. He snorted derisively at the sight now before him. All eyes in the place were trained on the young lady hidden in the shadows on the stage. She would be described as beautiful by any other man, but not him. Her body began following the rhythm of the music, creating a dance that would be sensuous and sinful to every other man but him.

He snorted again as a sneer played across his lips. He raised his new drink in a silent salute to the woman – no, girl – who had the eyes of everyone watching her every move. Everyone, that is, except him. No woman would ever catch his interest.

He continued to ignore the girl and the rest of the patrons as he idly scanned the room. The bartender was leaning back against the mirror, his hands occupied with a towel and a glass. The waitress circled the room, picking up empty glasses and full ashtrays. Both were ignoring the girl as well, focused entirely on their respective jobs.

A cloaked figure slipped out from the shadowy doorway. The figure stopped at the bar as Severus returned his gaze to his own drink. Instincts honed by the necessity of war told him of the approach of someone. Before he could say a word, the figure slid into the spot across the dingy table. “Hello, Severus,” he quietly said.

“Lupin,” he hissed. Bugger, he thought. Being social in public is hell. Dealing with women is worse. Now I have this werewolf in front of me. “To what do I owe this . . . visit?”

Remus said nothing, his warm gaze matching the frigid stare across the table. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back into the worn cushions. “Some company, perhaps?”

“Why would I want yours?” he stated flatly. “What has given that pathetic mind of yours the idea that I want the company of a-“ he stuttered, the word on his lips, but the magic keeping it there – “a Dark creature?”

“Because I know the company you seek,” Remus said, “and it’s right here in front of you.” His voice was barely a whisper but Severus heard it loud and clear.

The blankness of his face hid the outrage boiling inside. How dare he presume! Severus thought. “Sadly, Lupin,” he said impassively, “you are mistaken.” He gulped down the remainder of his drink as he stood. After setting the glass and some sickles on the table, he donned his cloak and silently strode out. Bah – women! he thought, passing the patrons with their eyes wide at the sight of the dancing girl.

* * * * *

Severus sat in his office, his head in his hands with his fingers massaging his forehead. The headache was brewing like a thunderstorm. Those bloody students! The first years couldn’t retain a single piece of information. The third years had yet to master a simple potion. The fifth years had grown more clumsy and nearly destroyed the dungeons. Even his brightest NEWT-level students were acting as if they had taken a befuddlement draught, mixing mandrake leaves with dragon blood.

Sighing, he locked his office and headed for the hospital wing. At this moment, the fastest option would be to get the headache potion from Madam Pomfrey, but he made a mental note to brew a batch for himself. Merlin knows I’ll need it with these dunderheads, he thought. He made his way through the halls, the silence created by his presence helping to hold back the headache.

The hospital wing was empty of students, but not of adults. “Lupin,” he stated, seeing the man standing next to Pomfrey’s desk.

“Hello, Severus,” he said pleasantly. “I hoped I would see you.”

Severus winced as the brewing headache unleashed itself. A lesser man would have screamed in agony, but not him. It took all of his concentration, but he managed to maintain a neutral tone to his voice. “Why would you want to see me?”

Madam Pomfrey bustled in before he could respond, the cloth sack in her hands clearly stuffed full. “Here you are, Remus,” she said before noticing Severus standing there. “Oh, Severus!” she quickly said. “Did I keep you waiting?”

“No, Madam Pomfrey,” he said. “I find myself in need of a headache potion-”

“Hmmm . . “ the woman pursed her lips, waving her wand. “Not at all well, Severus,” she said, turning around and returning to her office. Severus hissed at the unending chatter from the insufferable woman. The headache was bad enough; Pomfrey’s “noise” only made it worse.

Swearing under his breath, he quickly left without the potion he sought. He had no patience for the woman, even for the relief from the damnable headache. The halls were no longer silent, however, as the students made their way noisily to dinner. The excitement for the end of another week of classes was evident in the shrieks and laughter. The noise only served to aggravate the pounding in his head. Even the Slytherins were unusually loud as he passed them in the dungeon hallways, talking about something involving the Gryffindors.

Sweat broke out as he concentrated on unlocking the door to his chambers. Three attempts later, he finally managed to get the incantations and wand movements right. A deep sigh escaped his lips as the door opened, revealing the welcomed silence and darkness of his quarters. His sight blurred as the pounding started to spread down his neck. His eyes closed as bright spots suddenly flashed before him, causing him to fall to his knees. His hands found purchase on a low table and he hoisted himself into a nearby chair.

“Severus?” a voice whispered, interrupting the loud pounding in his head. “Severus,” the voice repeated.

Grimly, he cracked open his eyes to find Remus crouched before him. “What, Lupin?” Severus said, wincing at the pain speaking those words produced. “Are you incapable of-”

“Here,” Remus said sharply, taking out the stopper and presenting a vial.

Severus blinked rapidly, trying to clear both his sight and mind. It didn’t work. “Get out,” he spat, clumsily raising his arm to push the man away. “I won’t take your-” Severus stopped, clamping his mouth shut as the feeling of nausea rose from his stomach.

“Severus,” Remus said, batting away the flailing arm, “enough. It’s the headache potion from Madam Pomfrey.”

“No!” he grumbled, still trying to focus his vision enough to glare appropriately. “You-” Words were lost as he felt something shoved up against him, increasing the painful sensations that flowed out through his body.

Remus deftly slid the mouth of the vial between Severus’ lips and quickly dumped the contents in. A few firm strokes on his throat made Severus swallow the substance in hurried gulps. The empty vial vanished as he went to sit in the chair across from him.

Severus suppressed the shudder that went through him as the potion took effect. The pounding diminished, the bright spots disappeared and his vision cleared. Only his stomach was unaffected; it continued to twist and turn.

“Lupin!” he hissed, finally seeing clearly enough to make out the other man’s pale features and patched robes.

“You left before Madam Pomfrey could give you the potion,” he quietly said. “You looked like you needed it. I told her I would bring it to you.”

“And poison your enemy-” Severus croaked, his throat feeling raw.

“You’re not my enemy, Severus,” Remus said. A goblet floated in from the small kitchen area and hovered in front of Severus, who eyed it suspiciously. “Go ahead,” Remus said, nodding to the goblet, “it’s water from your own pitcher.”

Severus continued to eye the Gryffindor as he took hold of the goblet. A quick sniff and miniscule sip was enough to tell him it was plain water, nothing added. The remainder was quickly swallowed, soothing his raw throat for the moment.

Sending the goblet away, he looked at Remus. Their gazes locked: icy versus fiery. Severus wanted to get inside that thick werewolf’s skull and find out what he had done to him. Despite the dull thud still echoing in his head, he pushed against Remus’ gaze, blinking in surprise at the ease of entering the werewolf’s mind.

He wanted to find it. The trick. The mischief. The prank. Whatever game Remus was playing with him, he wanted to end it now. He would not be humiliated again by a Marauder.

Memories surfaced as Severus searched Remus’ mind; they were roughly shoved aside. Mundane thoughts about cleaning and work bubbled and burst as Severus continued. He felt the fear accompanying the thoughts about the full moon, along with the relief and pain after it had passed for the month. Finally, he found what he was after – or so he thought.

Severus gasped at the strength of it. Behind the remorse and regret, there was . . .

“NO!” Severus firmly said, snapping back to himself. The force of his retreat left Remus momentarily stunned. Both were panting heavily from the exertion of the mental interaction.

Silence descended as each slowly regained their composure. Remus broke the silence by speaking softly. “Severus, I-”

“Not a word,” he hissed, “to anyone.”

“Never.”

“I will crush you, Dark creature or not, if one word of my . . . weakness is uttered.”

Remus nodded. “I know.”

The man’s politeness was irksome. “You have nothing over me.”

“But I do,” Remus said, standing up and straightening his robes. “I have something you seek, Severus.”

“Just what is it that you believe I am seeking?” he asked, watching Remus shoulder his sack and walk to the door. His answer was the soft closing of the door as he left.

Well, that was bloody wonderful, Severus sarcastically thought.

* * * * *

AN: Feedback is always appreciated!