On Hatred

Severus hated James Potter. He hated Potter’s cocky smirk and his stupid glasses and his mop of tangled hair. He hated the glory Potter received for his Quidditch performances, the way he got off easy in Potions and Divination because of them. He hated the devious look in Potter’s brown eyes right before he cast a hex that embarrassed Severus even more than the previous had. He especially hated that James Potter could get away with anything, and he wasn’t even Slytherin enough to use it for more than stupid pranks and bragging to girls and tormenting Severus.

Severus hated Sirius Black. He hated Black’s gray eyes and his olive skin and the way girls watched him. He hated Black’s bloodline and the way Black ignored the privilege he had been born into and the advantages it would give him, if he could only be patient enough to wait on his inheritance. He hated that Black was the poster boy for everything wrong with Gryffindors: he was brash, stupid, acting always on instinct and passionate fits, impulsive and foolhardy. He hated Black for his privilege and his beauty and his ability to act entirely on emotion.

Severus hated Peter Pettigrew. He hated Pettigrew’s oily smile and his worried brow and his need to be accepted. He hated the way Pettigrew simpered for anyone who paid him any attention, hated Pettigrew’s stupidity and lack of both talent and backbone. He hated that he nearly pitied Pettigrew, found him too pathetic to simply ignore. He hated that Pettigrew always sought to ingratiate himself with someone stronger, more influential. He hated that he could practically smell Pettigrew’s fear.

Severus hated Remus Lupin the most, though. He hated Lupin’s hazel eyes and his gravelly voice and his steady hands. He hated that Lupin had a kind smile toward anyone else, but only unreadable looks for Severus. He hated that Lupin was his competition for highest marks in Defense. He hated Lupin’s friends and the way Lupin refused to show them any spine. He hated Lupin’s apologies afterward, always told in secret places, where nobody would ever hear. He hated that it bothered him so when Lupin didn’t apologize. He hated that Lupin didn’t play along, didn’t just embarrass him, because instead, Lupin made him ache until Severus’ hatred crawled up his throat, threatening to spill out.

This was why Severus allowed what he did. This was why Severus waited in towers and alcoves and dark niches for Lupin. This was why, night after night, Severus snuck out of the Slytherin dormitories to see him, to make Lupin fuck the hate out of him.

Lupin paid his penance, apologized now with fingers and tongue and teeth and cock instead of with words. He left bruises, scrapes, marks all over that Severus only made him apologize for again later. Lupin fucked him hard enough to turn Severus’ hatred into sizzling heat, every vein full of life and fire and pain and lust, instead of the cold darkness he was so used to.

Lupin touched him afterward, always carefully, always reverently, and Severus always looked away, because he would hate it if Lupin got it into his mind to kiss him. Lupin’s mouth was always wet and warm against his throat and ears and jaw, but their lips never touched, by unspoken agreement. Severus hated that, eventually, his blood cooled down again and left him aching for more of Lupin’s heat and Lupin’s hands and Lupin’s presence.

What Severus hated the very most about Remus Lupin, though, was that Severus wasn’t sure any more that he hated him at all.