Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures
Zyta

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters or the world that they are playing within- that honor goes to the genius JK Rowling. I’m just playing with her toys, but I promise to give them back with all their hair and clothes in tact. Maybe. I don’t make money from this, and I doubt anyone would pay anyway.

A/N: Slash. If you don’t like Male/Male pairings with sex involved then you shouldn’t read this. There’s also quite a bit crude language in here, mostly the F dash dash dash word. If you’re uncomfortable with adult language, move on to the monkey bars kiddies. This is the adult’s sandbox.

This story was an idea born from one question. What if Snape decided to ‘save his own neck’?

Edit: 2.25.2004- added additional author\'s notes at the bottom.

(¯`•._.•[Chapter VI]•._.•´¯)
The Rage Of The Wolf

The door slammed behind him, a sound that stretched and reverberated. It did not satisfy because it was not destructive enough. It should have shaken the walls, made them crumble with the foundation of this wretched house. It should have shattered this isolation made solid, just as he had cracked and crumbled.

Remus did not often show anger, he did not shed tears, and he most certainly didn’t loose control. It seemed this black year was slowly chiseling away at every buffer he had put between himself and his urges. Had he been rational, he may have realized that he’d been spiraling down towards rock bottom since Sirius’ death. Having sex with Snape that first time after the wake should have set off warning bells. It was one thing to take his anger out on him, but it was another to thrust him up on a counter and fuck him mercilessly. Be fucked mercilessly till he howled in pain and red-hot passion- the two entwined as surely as he and Snape had been.

It would never have happened had Sirius lived. Never.

Remus wished vehemently that Sirius had not escaped Azkaban. That he wouldn’t have to know of his innocence, and perhaps he could have gone on ignoring his heart’s long time desire. When Sirius had returned with the truth, when he had seen Peter on the map, he had known he was no longer alone. Sirius was back, and so was the fire that burned for him as if it had never been suppressed, and it flared with each slap on the back and wicked grin that echoed of the boy he’d known ages ago.

It made him remember what it was like to want and need. Even if it was unrequited, he was there and beside him. A comrade in arms, an ear willing to listen, a friend who was never afraid of what Remus was. Then, just as fate had guided him back into Remus’ heart, it had ripped him away again without hope of one last smile.

There was no hope for him any longer. A man without hope was a man with nothing left to loose. It was easy then to dismiss his late night trysts with a wizard he despised. It was just a need, an itch being scratched. A final dream of what was gone. Remus knew it was bad for him- that he was staving off the healing and replacing it with something much darker and chilling to the soul. For the first time in his life, he hadn’t cared.

It didn’t help that Snape hadn’t- didn’t- care either.

Snape must have known what sort of vulnerable state Remus had been in. He’d said as much that gray morning- that Remus had allowed ‘the great love of his life’ to walk into danger. Sensing that opportunity Snape had done what any Slytherin would do, he took what he wanted. No remorse, no regret, and certainly no thought to Remus’ state.

Now even Snape had left. True, they hadn’t been lovers, not in the truest sense of the word. They’d been convenient partners, never speaking about the what or the why. Never saying much of anything other than what their bodies had communicated in that primal language of lust. Remus had thought it enough, at the time, but for some reason he could not explain- that the greasy git bastard should refuse him- it was the proverbial straw.

Months- nay years- of pent up frustration, grief, rage, and obsession exploded from that tightly bottled place deep within him. That sacred box, where all the malcontent and hatred he stored away lest he loose control, had been opened by Snape’s short but cutting remarks. Snape had been transformed into Pandora, and the lid was gone.

He wanted to hurt something, anything. The hat stand went first, an old twisted thing that had probably been in Sirius’ family for generations. He picked it up with both hands, it’s weight not even registering as rage filled him with an unnatural strength, and then Remus swung it right at the wall with more force than a Slytherin beater during a match with Gryffindor. The wall didn’t stand a chance, neither did the hat stand, and while it’s thick rod cracked and splintered apart in the middle to make it shorter- it sunk through the plaster of the wall and embedded itself deeply past boarded frame.

He ripped it out and turned next to the grotesque heads mounted on the wall. He bashed in the first elf’s nose, clearly picturing another face instead, before the plaque toppled and fell to the floor, where he continued to beat into it with frenzied need to bloody that sallow face, the large hooked nose, and malicious black eyes.

The bastard! The complete and utter bastard! He had no right! He knows nothing! Nothing!

Remus noted briefly that there were gut wrenching shouts and curses, sounding roughly like himself, flying from somewhere around him- curses that would make a troll blush and stutter. He didn’t care, even as one of the little eyes of the elf popped out and rolled next to his boot, which he promptly crushed beneath a heal with a satisfying crunch and grind of glass. The head had collapsed upon itself, like a quaffle with no air left, and so he straightened up and turned to the next one. Knocking that down and bringing his new weapon down to bear on it as well.

“MUDBLOODS! CURSED WRETCHED CREATURES! KILLED MY BOY! KILLED MY FAMILY! DIRTY! FILTHY BEASTS! GET OUT! GET OUT!”

The howls were muffled, but Remus’ ears twitched as he caught Mrs. Black’s shouting from behind the dark curtains. He swirled around, his makeshift club held high, and snarled at the covered portrait. It’s hangings quivering angrily as the curses and threats leaked out between his shabby stitching.

“SHUT UP!” he roared, crossing over to it and letting one hand go of the broken stand before reaching up with it and ripping the hangings off in one horrible yank. Mrs. Black, the old crone, took one look at him and for the first time did as someone had told her. Remus registered her eyes widening in fear, and then the old matron picked up her black skirts just as he lifted the stand over his head.

She sped screaming from the frame as he brought it down with a force that ripped the canvas in half on the first go. His head snapped to the side, his own eyes narrowing in a crazed hatred as he heard her shrill cries as she bounded through the portraits that lined the staircase. Without thought he took off after her, shouting his own obscenities and threats he fully intended to carry out while he gave chase.

He knocked down and impaled any portrait he caught her in. Wanting to rip that bitch into pieces, quite possibly with his teeth, he paid no mind to the other wizards and witches he terrified along the way. At one point Phineas stepped out, angrily asking what in Slytherin’s name he thought he was doing- which was of course the wrong thing to say. Slytherin brought to mind Snape, and he aimed another well-placed knock with the long stick at the ex-Headmaster. Phineas shouted before ducking out of the frame just as it collided.

But he still hadn’t caught his target, and saw her rush through the portrait at the end of the hall. He grinned with a disturbingly feral flash of teeth, walking with heavy steps towards the great bedroom door. He kicked it open, hands gripping the end of the hat stand, as he searched for her. He found her, cowering behind a chair in a portrait of a poker game, the other occupants having yet to arrive for their nightly game. His eyes held a crazed glint in them. “No more portraits to run to,” he whispered darkly before crossing the room without even taking in his surroundings.

She peered over the top of the chair with frightened blue eyes, and a face that was normally pale gone completely white. He saw her frantically glance around for another portrait to run to, but he’d cut off her escape with ruthless efficiency. She then took in a sharp breath, stood with a straight spine, and looked at him in what could have been an imperious glare had she not been trembling so badly. “Get out of my house!” she hissed.

“No,” Remus countered with a snarl, before tossing the club aside. She seemed hopeful for a moment, and then let off another ear piercing shriek of bloody murder when he gripped the gilded frame in both hands and lifted it off the wall. “You’ve insulted me for the last time, you horrible old wench!”

“HELP!” she cried over and over, while punctuating the plea with various curses at Remus.

He ignored them, spotting the magnificent and gargantuan four-poster bed near by. It had no canopy, no hangings, only four long wooden columns that were carved into large pikes, with vines tumbling around them. Remus, seeing the world in hues of gray, walked over and hefted the screaming portrait high in the air, before bringing it down and impaling the shrieking witch right down the center of the post nearest to him.

Her scream died instantly, and he watched with trembling hands as paint slowly dripped down the vines. The roaring was still in his ears, louder than before without her screaming insults, and his blood seemed to boil beneath his skin- heating his entire body in a blazing inferno. Though, there was a satisfaction buzzing around his mind as he realized that bitch wasn’t going to start yelling monster or mudblood ever again.

A growl was still in the air, huffed with heavy breathing and so made quiet, but there was no doubt he could hear a very angry animal nearby. His hands clenched and unclenched as he stared at the paint that had nearly trickled down to the floorboards. He wanted to see more of it, so he leaned over and took one corner of the canvas and ripped it back until a large triangular piece came free in his hand. He reached for another, and then another, until the frame was simply the four golden sides hanging off the post.

He picked up one of the pieces on the floor and began ripping it into smaller shreds. Ignoring the particles that exploded from it and danced in a stray beam of sunlight coming through a boarded window, tickling his nose, he continued ripping all the frayed pieces. The growls were escalating into louder snarls, his fingers curled into fleshed claws as they flexed over the next fallen piece of cloth. The world was still in shades of gray, like an old black and white muggle film- making the puddle of paint look like dark blood under the moonlight.

Then a feeling not unlike coarse sandpaper against his neck, and suddenly someone was hauling him bodily back away from his kill. Another pair of arms joined the first, and he saw a flash of dark skin covered by red Auror robes before they hooked him around the arms and began wrenching him from the room. They were speaking something, some sort of short barks he felt he should recognize, but were in no pattern of speech he understood.

Remus twisted and snarled, his head jerking to one side then the next as his teeth snapped together as he tried to bite at whatever was holding him. His legs kicked out at the air, then a foot caught the doorframe they tried to haul him past, still speaking to him in a language he couldn’t comprehend. He howled in fury, and managed to wrench one of his arms free before snatching the doorframe and hauling himself back into the room.

The leverage pulled him free of the two who had grabbed him, and instead of bolting he whirled around to face them. Recognition flashed briefly as he took in the gnarled one, with twisted features and a whirling glass eye- the other dark skinned with a wary look on his face and a shining earring looped through one ear- but then rage overcame him again and he leapt at the taller of the two seeing the larger threat, the one trying to dominate and steal his kill.

It shouted in surprise when he collided and clutched at the furs. Bringing them both down to a roll on the floor. More shouting, more stomping feet from a pack, but he concentrated on the male beneath him before bringing his teeth together at the shoulder nearest his face.

Another shout, higher in pitch, and more shoving as it tried to push him away, but he held on somehow, even sending his knee up into the hard flesh of a belly. The shouting turned into a grunt and painful gasp.

He was about to bite again but something collided with his back and blasted him off into the air and into a spin before he was knocked against the bed frame behind. His breath left him in a rush, and he curled onto his side protectively as a blazing light faded from around him. When he could breathe again it came out in panted snarls, and he pushed himself up to his knees in a delirious wobble.

Another mumble followed by a second blast, and this one froze his bones and twisted muscles in blinding pain. Remus’ eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed into darkness.

••.•´¯`•.•• ••.•´¯`•.••

“…lad was fine when he left. Nearly whistling, and asking silly questions. Nothing wrong with him.”

“He’s been moping around lately, though. Like someone’s kicked his puppy, ay Kingsley?”

“He’s gone mad.”

“He’s not mad.”

“You didn’t see him, Tonks. He was out of his bloody mind. Snarling and growling, and trust me when I say his teeth were definitely sharper.”

“I’ve heard of curses. Nasty things that’ll bring out the monster in daylight, he could have been hit with one.”

“I don’t find that likely, Alastor.”

“What do you think it was then, Albus? Growin fangs- and his eyes had gone yellow. And he wasn’t thinking like a man any more, that’s for sure.”

“And he bit me.”

“Stop whining. You’re fine.”

“I’m not whin”
”

“Yes you are.”

“Quiet.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s alright my dear.”

“Maybe he’s—gone?”

“What do you mean gone?”

“I read somewhere that they can- you know- give up. Being human, I mean. Go and live in the wild, living like man-wolves. Don’t they have packs and things?”

“That’s rubbish, Molly. Pure prejudice nonsense.”

“No, it’s true! He told me he came across a pack in Transylvania. Said they were nice blokes, but a little on the wild side.”

“Werewolves can choose to give themselves over to their more- baser instincts. It’s quite rare, however. Though, he fits the criteria. Infected young, lived with the condition for many years.”

“I still say he was hit by a curse. Lad wouldn’t just give up.”

Remus snorted softly and opened his eyes. Colors washed over him, though they were muted by a soft glow given off by the candle blazing on the table next to his bed. His head hurt horribly, a telling sign of the after-affects of a stunner. His memory was hazy as well. He recalled being furious after apparating back, loosing his temper and taking it out on the wall- but then things became muddled. There had been screams, shouts, snarls, and a blinding rage. Though, he could make a guess on what had occurred, given the fact the brief flashes of what he summoned from his mind were all in the grayed vision of a colorblind animal.

He tried to lift his hand, only to feel it held back after moving it a fraction from the mattress. Remus tried his other hand, and found it was tied down with shimmering chords- along with his feet. Conjured bounds, no doubt. Then he groaned and flopped his head back against the pillow. How could he have been so stupid as to loose control like that?

Now they’d tied him to the bed. He panicked briefly, wondering if he’d actually hurt someone. Merlin knew he been out of his head with fury, enough to let that corner of his mind run unchecked. Without thought or consideration to anyone else who might have been in the house.

It was one of the many unfortunate side effects of lycanthropy. Most thought the man and the monster were separate entities, one taking over like some possessing ghost in light of the full moon. That wasn’t true, not strictly. The wolf was always with him, though usually dormant. Like the primal urges all humans had- ruled by pleasure and pain- the ones that made a man stop and stare at a shapely figure walking past. Or a mother with a seriously injured child, feeling that need to immediately stop their child’s pain.

Remus’ were a bit stronger. More lucid, and more demanding of attention. He’d learned over the years that through meditation and a calm mind he could control the baser urges. Rise above them, or let them fuel him if he needed to. He could conquer them. Push them away. Bottle them up.

Seemed the cork had finally popped, however. He hadn’t been paying as good attention to his morning habits of clearing his thoughts, as he should have. It was difficult to do so, after Sirius. Besides, he firmly told himself, he was more man than beast. He’d had plenty of trials over the last years to loose control, and had never done so. Except that night at the wake, and now today. Twice, in so short a span of time.

He was loosing that grip on himself. The most disturbing revelation to him, as he lay quietly breathing on the bed listening to the others outside his door, was that he felt better. Even as he was ashamed, he’d felt so much better for having let it all out. Like a satiated lion after a good feast and nap, full and content. The fact that loosing control and letting the vicious urgings of rage take hold filled him with such relaxation left Remus worried over his state of mind. Oh, he was horrified, but not nearly as much as he should’ve been. Would’ve been, at any time in the past.

Those urges were still there, softly calling to him. Pacing restless circles around his cornered thoughts, demanding one more thing. He’d been dominated, frightened into submission this morning. Abandoned by his mate. That wouldn’t do, and he needed to reaffirm his position. Stop letting the other so easily snap him into line. Show him who led this pack.

“Stop it,” Remus whispered with a bone deep exhaustion. This was becoming too much for him to handle. First Sirius’ death, then Voldemort’s rise, Snape coming into his bed, then leaving him cold- the last thing he needed was to worry over loosing himself and giving his humanity up. He had little hope anymore that things would ever truly be all right again, but that didn’t mean he wanted to completely abandon everything he’d worked so hard for.

Though the mattress felt soft and inviting, he couldn’t help the sensation that flittered over him that he was laying at rock bottom.

The others were still talking outside the door, and he was still tied to the bed. Remus debated for a moment on what to do- lie here quietly and listen as they debated over what had come over him, or speak up and demand to be let free. Though, with his restless thoughts of returning to Snape, he wasn’t sure if the latter was really as good an idea as it seemed to be.

With his leash on things slipping so dangerously short, he couldn’t be sure if he’d rip the other wizard into tiny pieces. Merlin knew he wanted to, for throwing his life into such chaos.

Why was he obsessing over this as much as he was? He wasn’t a man prone to obsession. There had been Sirius- granted. However, Sirius was charming, beautiful, and everything he could have ever wanted in a lover. Snape was hardly any of that, even on the best of days.

Sirius had been his friend, so great a friend he’d never betrayed his feelings for fear of loosing him. Sirius had known where his tastes had run, of course- they all had- but never that he’d crushed after him so terribly hard. Remus had often wondered at night what Sirius’ reaction would be. A fearful part thought he’d want nothing to do with him, but honestly he couldn’t see that happening. Sirius would likely have been very pleased to learn he was desired, he always was as bad as James as flaunting, but never would have reciprocated. Probably would have basked in the adoration, though let it be plain in no uncertain terms what the boundaries of their friendship was.

Sirius had been sharp, not stupid by any means, and probably sensed a tension at times. Though, surprisingly, he’d never let on if he had. Neither had Remus. It simply wasn’t going to happen, and they both knew it.

Snape though- he’d obviously seen it. He didn’t miss much, really. Remus tried to think back, all the way back to school, to try and pinpoint any moment Snape had showed any signs of wanting him. He couldn’t recall a single instance. No lingering gazes- or contrarily quickly shifting eyes, no brushes of touch, not even so much as a slip in words. Nothing. Remus hadn’t even known he was gay at all, or bisexual- or whatever he was. He’d seemed asexual if anything, never interested in sex with either gender. Just his studies, and later when they’d taught together- his work. Of course, intellectually, Remus realized Snape was human and probably fell to the same desire for touch as anyone else- but somehow that Slytherin coldness just seemed above such baser needs.

That, and the fact he was so ugly no one probably would’ve ever wanted to touch or be touched by Snivellus Snape. Except, it seemed, Remus Lupin- who really was just as ugly himself. Perhaps not in appearance- he wasn’t a handsome man but neither was he ugly. He had what Lily called a rugged look, and it attrattractive in it’s own way. Rather he felt ugly in his soul- where there dwelt a monster.

Still, there was nothing about Snape save a sort of pity on Remus’ part that should have elicited this sort of complete and utter obsessive madness. He should have taken Snape’s advice and just got over it, forgot about him, and tried to find someone else to move on with- or just move on by himself as he had before.

Something just wasn’t letting that happen. Something kept that fear Snape had shown in his mind’s eye. Something wanted to keep him safe from torture and horror. Something wanted his mate back, on his own terms this time. Something demanded he get his arse out of this bed and show Snivellus that you could walk on Remus Lupin only so many times before getting as good as he’d been got.

Remus Lupin was inclined to call that something a desperate insanity. It seemed to be his theme lately.

••.•´¯`•.•• ••.•´¯`•.••

It was another two hours before the door to his bedroom finally cracked open. The slightly bent wizard with the half moon spectacles and long white whiskers then shielded the light that blasted onto his face with a blinding intensity. Dumbledore quickly walked into the room with a speed and grace that belayed his age, and shut the door to keep the light from hurting Remus’ unadjusted eyes. “How are you feeling Remus?”

Out of my bloody mind?

“Fine,” he replied in that quiet hoarse voice of his made rougher than usual from all the howling before.

Dumbledore examined him carefully from above the rim of his spectacles. The Headmaster’s blue eyes lacking their usual luster as he drew a chair beside Remus bed and sat into it. “Are you aware of what happened this afternoon, Remus?”

Now feeling like a marauder caught with a pocket full of dungbombs, Remus sighed. “Bits of it.”

“You destroyed nearly every painting in this house. Phineas is quite irritated, right now. Mrs. Black has been irreparably damaged, and can not be restored.”

Good, Remus thought bitterly. Holding that thought to himself, Remus merely nodding like any other sullen and deeply regretful person.

“You also bit Kingsley on the shoulder.”

That piece of information genuinely startled him, and he twitched in his bindings with a sudden desperation. “Is he…”

“Quite alright. Not a full moon so no lasting harm done. Still, Remus, what they witnessed- it understandably has us all concerned.”

He turned away from the Headmaster, towards the window where the half moon hung brightly in the middle of the sky- right at the midnight hour. “I know. I heard you, earlier.”

Dumbledore’s voice drifted from behind him. “What happened?”

“I was- angry. Terribly so. It got out of hand.” His eyes stayed locked on the moon, and he felt the chilled chords around his wrists and ankles biting him. “Might I be let up now?”

“You seem much calmer,” Dumbledore echoed softly, as if assuring both of them this had better be the case.

Remus turned back to regard him with an honest nod. “Quite.”

Dumbledore barely even flicked his wand and the ropes dissolved back into nothing. Remus sat up slowly, absently rubbing his wrists as he did so, before crossing his legs on the bed and regarding Dumbledore in silence.

They watched each other for a very long time, before the elder wizard sighed. “There’ve been few people who could get under your skin, Remus. Make you forgeasoeason. Most are, unfortunately, no longer with us.” Remus winced slightly, but the other wizard went on. “Which leaves me with a good idea of who you went to see this morning.”

Remus kept his lips pressed tightly together, and his eyes fixed on the candle beside the bed.

“I think it would be best, in light of your recent tantrum, to leave Grimmauld Place for a few days.”

The amber eyes locked with shock onto a pair of serious stormy blue. “What?”

“I said I think you should leave Headquarters. For the time being.”

“Because-“ Remus found it hard to find words, “because I destroyed that wretched painting? Bit Kingsley? I’m sorry about Kingsley, truly I am, but I’m fine now! You can’t just toss me out of here! May I remind you, sir, that Sirius left this house to me- not to you.”

“I’m asking you to leave precisely because you bit Kingsley. You’re unstable, Remus. You need to get away from these memories and clear your head- before it happens again.” It was clear to Remus that Dumbledore was not about to budge on this.

Remus simply stared with incomprehension. “You think I’m dangerous?”

“I think you could be,” he replied without a trace of apology, “if this is left unchecked.”

“Bullocks! I’m fine!” Remus snapped with a snarl.

Dumbledore arched a white brow at the outburst, prompting Remus to snap his teeth shut and look away again.

“I can’t believe your tossing me out of my home,” he said quietly. Deeply hurt, and reminded suddenly of Hogwarts. Forced out of his home again- simply because of his lycanthropy.

With a sigh that seemed to carry troubles that made Remus’ look silly; Dumbledore placed an old hand on his shoulder. “Remus, we both know you haven’t been able to grieve properly. I haven’t said anything about it, your business is your own as are your personal- affairs,” his quiet emphasis on the word make Remus’ cheeks burn with shame, “but this is beginning to get out of hand. You assaulted a painting and Kingsley, and quite frankly don’t seem nearly as mortified by the thought as you normally would.” Remus peeked out at Dumbledore with penitence written all over his face. “I’m not kicking you out for good, Remus. The Order needs you. I just think a bit of time off is what you need. Surely there is somewhere you can go? Just for a week or two? I’ve always found the marshes to be quite lovely this time of year.”

“The marshes?” he echoed with disgust. “Albus they’re the most dreary, depressing of places- especially this time of-“ Remus stopped and gazed at him with a feeling of dread in his stomach. “You know.”

“No, I don’t. Can’t recall at all- actually.” Dumbledore touched the side of his nose with his finger before standing. He turned and strode towards the door, but as his hand touched the handle he paused before looking back over his shoulder. “By the way, there was another murder this afternoon. A fortuneteller in Knocturn Alley found tortured quite brutally. Strangely enough, seems as if they removed her eyes- although Moody suggests she might have done it herself a while back, since there was scaring in the sockets. Most unusual, wouldn’t you say?”

Remus sat rooted in shock. Certainly Dumbledore didn’t mean the same fortuneteller he’d visited only yesterday?

“See you in a week, Remus,” Dumbledore said just before pulling the door open and stepping through- shutting it softly behind him.

••.•´¯`•.•• ••.•´¯`•.••

No one was around when he made his way back downstairs with his worn leather satchel in one hand and his cloak secured tightly around his shoulders. He took in the lack of portraits and elf heads with a surprising lack of regret for his actions. They’d all been horrid anyway. Remus did take the time to scratch out a quick apology to Kingsley, which he left on the table for the Auror to pick up. He did genuinely feel bad about that, he liked Shaklebolt a great deal, but as Albus had said- he wasn’t nearly as guilt ridden as he should’ve been.

Remus quietly left the house with a soft pop, appearing a moment later in front of the twisted black gates of Snape Manor. They gave the same painful scrape as he opened them, just before he glanced up at the moon, which hung around the two o’clock hour in the sky. Snape would not be happy for such a late night visitation. Frankly Remus didn’t give a damn about that either.

He was done being understanding and rational, finished with playing Mr. Nice Wizard. He still smarted from Snape’s words, still determined to get him back to the Order, and by Merlin if he wasn’t howling in rage at that ugly git’s rejection. Reject him? No. Remus didn’t think so. Snape had given him little choice in the beginning of their trysts, and Remus intended to give him little choice with the continuation of them. This time, he wasn’t going to allow the slimy Slytherin to manipulate him so easily. If anyone was going to be plucking at strings, it was going to be Remus.

He’d been pushed too far, and he was taking Snape over the edge with him. Damn the consequences straight to hell. Furthermore, he was determined to catch the hare that had tried to run, and he intended to take his prey down for the kill.

••.•´¯`•.•• ••.•´¯`•.••

A/N 2: I debated for a long time on whether or not Remus loosing his temper with such volatility would be in character for him. The conclusion I came up with is, yes- if he was pushed far enough. I believe Remus Lupin is a kind, considerate, calm, and wise man by nature- but I also believe that having contracted lycanthropy at such a young age would inevitably play a part in shaping his personality. While on one hand he has learned to accept prejudice with good grace and try to rise above it with a humanity most of us don’t even posses, there is a darker side that must come with it. A side ruled by primitive and animalistic instinct.

No one is pure, man has fault- it’s what makes us human. Look at all the violence around us in the world. You don’t need to be a werewolf to have that sort of inclination. In tandem with that, repression is, psychologically, extremely unhealthy- and often backfires when that control is lost. For a man who is constantly reviled and rejected, who clings to any sort of affection that’s granted him (stated by JKR herself), and to react the way he does to the hatred- he’s got to be repressing quite a bit.

You can disagree, of course, on whether or not the wolf would actually emerge with physical presence, but I based this on the signs of identifying a werewolf. If it’s possible to spot one in human form, then it means it does affect physical development. It seemed a logical step in a world ruled by magic to take that one rung further. I made the shift purposefully gradual- starting him out with the “normal” sort of heavy rage- that inevitably progressed to a complete loss of himself when he got it in his mind to hunt Mrs. Black down and semi-transform into a sort of man-wolf in the daylight. You can see the moment lust for the hunt takes over when his world goes into shades of gray.

I still think Remus is a very tender and kind man- but as one reviewer said, everyone has their limits. Who better to push those buttons than Snape?

Sorry for the long explanation, but I wanted you readers to know I still intend to stay as true to character as I possibly can, or am able. Even though Remus isn’t willing to allow Snape to push him around any more. I don’t like the thought of anyone abusing Remus, and I don’t think he’d just lie down and allow a bully like Snape to trod all over him for very long. Hope you’ll all agree, as it’s going to drive their interactions from this point on.

Oh- one more thing- though I call Snape a lot of nasty names in this fic- I absolutely adore him. Didn’t want you under the impression I’m a Severus basher. I’m definitely a Snape-maniac. Snark never sounded so good.