Distance

Evacuated, Dumbledore called it when he had shown up at the Order and told all who were there to leave. Sirius Black was dead and headquarters was at risk. They had no idea who Grimmauld Place would go to next, but it seemed Black took great care in making sure it stayed with the Order. Potter, of course, inherited it.

Black was dead. Severus Snape was not entirely sure how he felt about it. He would indeed miss needling the man. It was one of the only things he looked forward to when forced to gather with thirty other people. Mostly, any remorse he felt at Black’s death was for Potter’s sake. The boy was now alone again. But then Snape would remind himself that the boy was not alone. He had friends and Weasleys who all seemed to care more about Harry Potter than the Chosen One, and that was more than he, Severus, had ever had.

Gimmuald Place was dark and completely silent when he entered the door. Not even a clock ticked. Snape lit his wand, shut the door, and proceeded down the hall.

Despite the house going from Black to Potter, Albus had asked him to inspect it for any further damage Creature might have done, Severus specifically because no one in the Order, Dumbledore included, knew the Dark Arts as well as he did, and only he could find its traces.

The silence lasted through the house as he went from room to room, up a floor, and preceded through it thoroughly. Black’s room was mildly intriguing. Items from their school days caught his attention—old text books that were far less than sufficient for a proper education, robes smaller in the shoulders and not as tall, and there, on the wall, a picture of Black’s friends, the self-named marauders. An idea leaked into the back of his mind. Perhaps there was some remnant of Lily in this mess hole of a room. With a forced breath, he turned and continued his inspection of the house. Digging through it would have to wait until he was sure headquarters was secure. Way at the top up stairs, the hippogriff’s room was a disgusting disaster. People had bounced in and out of it, trying to remove the animal after Dumbledore showed up, and Snape was so drawn out and exasperated by then having arrived at the Order shortly after the others left, he cursed it unconscious and levitated it without much care out of the house and took it back to Hogwarts with him.

That day Severus knew how Black had felt. Knowing that Lily Potter’s son was willingly, like the idiot he was, walking headlong into the Dark Lord’s arms and being able to do nothing about it was more frustrating than anything he had ever experienced. He could not fight the Death Eaters without revealing his true side in the war. Instead, he stood and waited with Molly Weasley while the entire population of Grimmauld Place at the time departed and left him there. How he did not pace or dig grooves into the tabletop with his nails was still a mystery to him.

The house seemed just fine. Creature passed him a couple times in the dark, silently sobbing the entire time. The animal was truly pathetic. He might have drawn some morsel of sympathy from Severus if Creature hand’t caused all of this. Knowing the elf was miserable gave him some small amount of satisfaction.

Snape retraced his steps back through the house, the basement kitchen all that remained to inspect, and perhaps he would have time to search Black’s room. At the bottom of the steps, he opened the door, and alarm shot through him. As silent as the house had been, breath, especially jagged breath, was abnormally loud. Wand first, he pushed the door open the rest of the way.

The kitchen was just as dark as the rest of the house, but outlined in shadow from his wand was a person sitting otherwise soundlessly at the table. The person seemed to suddenly know he was there because the man, for the hands were definitely male, rubbed at the moisture running down his face.

Lupin.

Sending a small glow into the room to float just below the ceiling, Snape lowered his wand but didn’t put it away. He took a few more steps into the room.

“Dumbledore has not said it was safe to come back,” said Snape.

“Dumbledore can stuff it,” mumbled the werewolf.

Snape’s eyebrows rose. It was unlike Lupin to speak ill of the headmaster.

“Might I ask what it is that has your wand in a knot?” asked Snape as he began to circumvent the room, searching for Dark traces. Everything seemed fine, though Lupin, dark creature as he was, kept skewing his results. Creature’s bedroom cupboard was also giving off signals. He made it a point to investigate.

“He’s gone again,” Lupin said softly.

Quick witted though he was, Severus doubted very much it would take intelligence to figure out Lupin was speaking of Sirius.

“Yes, but life is much the same for you as it has been for the last twelve years or so, correct?”

This was worse than the wrong thing to say. Lupin’s silent cry exploded into body-shaking sobs. Snape was no good at comforting others and had less than no interest in doing so, but this was bad even for him. At the very least, he couldn’t stand to listen to it while digging through the cupboard.

When the man did not cease his sobbing for several minutes, Severus got up with a sigh, walked over to the table, placed his hands on the top, and leaned down.

“Lupin, pull yourself together. You lost a friend, yes, but you are in the middle of a war. You don’t get this privilege.”

With seemingly great effort, Remus drew in a breath and said in a stuffy voice, “Please leave, Severus. I can’t handle you right now.”

“No, I will not leave so that you can sit here in the dark and wallow in self pity. Surely you have something to do, somewhere to be.”

Snape received no response. He stood up straight with another sigh.

“I have no one again.”

Luckily Lupin wasn’t looking up at him because Snape made no effort to conceal his eye roll.

“You have spent a great amount of time among your own kind. You must have met someone who would sympathize with this.”

Lupin continued as if Snape had not spoken, eyes blurring on the table surface.

“My father didn’t do what Grayback wanted; that’s why he bit me. Threats and blackmail are things no one should ever give into, but I so wish he had…. I was six…. Dumbledore was the first person outside of my parents who spent time with me…. He sat on the floor and played with me when he came to say I could go to Hogwarts…. There I had friends for the first time. I thought if I defended you or did anything against them, they’d abandon me…. In one day I lost them all. Peter left, James and Lily were dead, and Sirius was in Azkaban…. I went to the funeral alone…. But Sirius came back. He was back…. Now he’s gone. Now my life is as it was before.”

Unable to stand and listen any longer, Severus gathered his robes and began to walk past the door. He had to leave because Lupin’s pathetic-ness was painful to watch, but it wasn’t the only thing that was painful. How would it feel to have Lily back for a year and then see her taken away again by the same person who killed her in the first place?

That was a dangerous train of thought. He needed to leave. Plundering Black’s room would wait.

That loss though, that was something he knew. That loneliness he knew. He had also gone to the funeral alone. He was almost to the door when Lupin let out a sob he very obviously tried and failed to stifle. Snape rested his hand on the chipped door frame and closed his eyes.

“Merlin help me,” he muttered to himself.

With a definite swoosh of his cloak, he turned and walked back to the table, undoing the clasp of his cloak as he went. He tossed it over the end of the table and hooked his shiny, black leather shoe around the leg of a chair to pull it out of place. Snape swished his wand and conjured a fresh bottle of fire whiskey from his house on Spinner’s End. It appeared on the table beside Lupin’s arm. One more flick of his wand and dusty glasses from the cupboard on the wall sprang out and glided to the vacant spot in front of the pulled-out chair. Snape threw himself down into the chair, as if he needed momentum to ensure he did not change his mind. He reclined in it, crossed his ankles and arms, and looked at the other man.

“If you tell anyone about this,” he said dangerously, “I will deny it and retaliate.”

Lupin sniffed, “What?”

With one more glare, Snape sat up and reached for his bottle of whiskey. Alcohol was not his favorite thing. His father smelled of it far too often, but logically it did have it’s place in the world. He uncorked it and poured two glasses, pushing one at the werewolf with his thumb. He held his, waiting for Lupin to accept it, and sat back in his chair.

Lupin looked at it for a full minute before tentatively pulling it between his fingers. He turned it part way and gulped it. He set the glass aside, eyes closed, either waiting for the burn to fade or hoping the alcohol would kick in instantaneously.

Finally he said softly, “Thank you.”

They sipped through the quiet until Lupin said, his voice thick but thankfully currently not tearful, “So, what, Severus? Is this your attempt to be my friend? I thought such things were beneath you.”

“I figured sobbing in the dark was beneath Gryffindor dignity,” Snape answered, watching the dark brown liquid swirl in his glass.

“Ah, but you’re forgetting something. Animals have no dignity.”

Snape rolled his eyes again. They lapsed into silence. Dislike was so easy between them, even with effort put forth the air around them would not relax. Why Snape was doing this was beyond both of them.

Lupin finally asked, “Does this mean you’re just as lonely as I am?”

“I will never be drunk enough to have that conversation…. You seemed to want to cry at me earlier about your life. Please continue.”

“Can you explain to me,” Lupin said as though Snape had no spoken, “in purely logical terms what is so bad about werewolves? Not the wolf, the rest of me.”

“There is no difference,” Snape said, “You are the wolf. It’s part of you. It may not always be outwardly present, but it is in your blood.”

“It’s not like I eat children.”

“But you do. Every month you turn into a literal monster and bite and attack and eat people, and that obviously scares them. Weather you control it or not, it is still your body that does all those things. Not only that, but you also have every ability to turn them into what you are. Your loss of willpower at the full moon is irrelevant.
If a mentally deficient person sexually assaults someone, the victim does not become less violated because the person didn’t mean anything by it.”

“And right now? Right now am I going to harm them? I am just a man. I have hurt people far less than most who walk down the street, and they are not hated. I don’t deserve this, I really don’t.”

“Life is never about what you deserve. And right now, Lupin, people should fear you because you’re likely to drown them if you do not cease this blubbering.”

Lupin let go of his drink and rubbed both his hands over his face, scrubbing away the tears and sucking in a wet deep breath.

“Do you get what you deserve?” Lupin asked in his most stable voice yet.

“I deserve nothing less than the slow and agonizing death the Dark Lord will give me,” Snape told him casually.

Lupin look over at him, surprised by the honesty in his answer.

“Because you were a Death Eater?”

Not willing to clarify, Snape just nodded, nose deep in his drink again.

“But that answer makes you deserving of better.”

“If it makes you feel better to think so.”

“If we’re going to be friends…” Lupin paused with a smile drawing on his tired mouth at the deeply disgusted nose wrinkle that appeared on Snape’s face, “—you should tell me something about you a friend would know.”

With a frown, Snape cast about for something suitable to say. This chummy camaraderie was physically painful, but for some ungodly reason, he had started this, and he would not back out.

He finally said, “My birthday is January 19th.”

Lupin paused again, caught off guard, and snorted.

“That’s not the kind of thing I was talking about. Besides, I already know that.”

Snape’s frown deepened, but he asked, “Then what sort of thing am I supposed to say?”

“Tell me about someone you care about. Tell me about something you made or invented or read, something that was important to you.”

Snape refilled his glass and drained it. He set it aside, folded his hands in his lap, and fell into thought. There was little he could confess to anyone without wanting to kill himself. He did not know that he had anything to satisfy Lupin’s odd search.

“I read a book I’m ashamed of liking. It was moving,” he settled on.

“Why are you ashamed of it?”

“It is a muggle book.”

“How was it moving?”

Snape sighed, and told him, “It was called Funny Boy, about a boy who was more feminine than his culture tolerated, and it was about finding and taking power over your own life. He was singled out and maltreated since he was very young, and it wasn’t until he was fourteen that anyone bothered to tell him why.”

There was more intrigue in Lupin’s features than Snape had expected as the werewolf turned closer to him.

“Do you read books about gay people often?” asked Lupin.

“I’m surprised. I didn’t say he was gay, just feminine. Isn’t that a little judgmental for a Gryffindor?”

“You’re right,” Lupin mumbled, though no less intrigued, “How was he feminine?”

“He liked to wear women’s clothes and do things like read that were considered less manly, and he had a great dislike of sports and fighting. As it happens he was gay. The story is semi-autobiographical.”

“I will need to read it myself…. How does it relate to you?”

“Occasionally I read characters that are different from what society sees as normal. It’s refreshing.”

Filling his glass again, Lupin pushed, “Any other notable books?”

“Frankenstein--about the impossibility of achieving perfection, and that the insistence search of it creates nothing but monsters.”

Silence again.

“I believe now is when you tell me something to mirror what I have told you,” Snape said.

“Haven’t I told you enough? Into chit-chat now?”

“Huh,” Snape huffed inarticulately, feeling the alcohol warping his vocabulary, “Viciously pushing people away is my move.”

Lupin covered his mouth with a hand, watching the opposite wall through dim light. He slipped into thought. Sometime later, he returned to the present but didn’t look at the man he sat with.

“You’re right,” he said more to himself, tears, silent ones this time, painting his face, “I’m sorry. That’s not like me.”

“I understand I’m more than dangerously close to sounding as if I care, but if it would keep you from dissolving, I will patiently ask what is necessary.”

Lupin said nothing, still not looking at him, breath beginning quake his body. Snape grabbed and tilted the bottle one more time to his glass. Even drunk, he had more wits than most people and would greatly appreciate not having them at that moment. He downed half his glass in one gulp, searing the soft inside of his throat and fuzzing his brain. In a couple minutes most of the blur was gone. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Lupin, you lived twelve years without Potter or Black,” he said in what could only be described as a gentle voice. He used it far more than others would think—on frightened and abused students, people he ended up alone with in the Dark Lord’s clutches, people he tried to avoid putting there—but not Lupin alone in a kitchen.

He continued, “There must be something you did, something about you neither of them ever knew. It doesn’t matter what it is. Tell me.”

“Severus, it doesn’t work like that,” Lupin started, finally turning towards Snape, “That’s not….”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve…” Lupin flung his hand out, eyes over dramatically searching the air around him, “I don’t know!”

Snape grabbed the leg of the other man’s chair and yanked it to turn and face him. Anger steadily rose in him. This was ridiculous. He shouldn’t have to try this hard for something he didn’t care about.

“They knew everything? What you’ve done as the wolf, every person you’ve been with?”

Lupin paused but then shrugged, and he said, “I’ve been with other men, but Sirius knew that. There’s nothing I kept….”

He trailed of, covering his mouth again.

Snape asked softly, “What is it?”

“If I tell you, you’ll not wish to speak with me,” mumbled Lupin.

“I don’t wish to speak with you now.”

“I… I have always enjoyed clothing that made me feel… held, hugged, cared for almost.”

Lupin was looking down off to the side, refusing to make eye contact. He lapsed into silence as if waiting for prompting or for the conversation to end.

“Like what? Just say it; I don’t like playing these games.”

“Like… Like women’s clothing. Like undergarments.” When Snape simply blinked at him, Lupin sat up a little straighter and hesitantly continued, “My last couple years at Hogwarts… I kept them under my mattress… silk and lace underwear mostly. Slips too…. I didn’t want them to know because they’d make fun of it—probably not hateful, just to be funny, but… I didn’t want it made fun of. It’s important, not for their amusement.”

“I never understood why people would associate themselves with others who created those kinds of interactions,” said Snape.

Lupin sat and waited, but Snape did not continue.

In a quiet but plainly confused voice, Lupin asked, “That’s it? No other comments?”

“What is it you want me to say? It’s not something we have in common or something I can claim to understand. I was a Death Eater; part of me is still a Death Eater. The Dark Lord and his followers fear physical pain, physical harm, death, so it follows then that, other than the Dark Lord’s need for power, the greatest good is pleasure. Pleasure is the reward, the reason for life. It just can’t be had from those who are beneath us.”

“But it’s not necessarily sexual. I mean, it is on some level, but that’s not why I wear them. It’s comforting. Silk doesn’t stretch, but in the right size it fits snugly, feels like being touched in the most gentle way.”

Lupin stopped and picked up his whiskey just to stare at, knowing he said too much.

Still leaning forward, Snape said, “Pleasure is not always sexual. There are many forms and all are necessary…. If you have something you wish to not be found, you should probably do more to hide is soon. The Order is coming back, and Potter is going to have Creature clean every inch of this place. I doubt Creature will stay out of more personal items.”

“Okay,” Lupin whispered, “Thank you…. So what did all of that achieve? Am I supposed to be fixed now?”

“No, but for the last fifteen minutes you have neither cried nor drank. And now you know that in absolute necessity and complete separation, I can provide the needed whiskey.”

A tiny smile crooked Lupin’s face, and he finally looked up at Snape and said, “In other non-Severus Snape words, if I really need you, you’ll come.”

Snape said nothing. He sat back in his chair and picked up his wand again to do a time spell.

He said, “I need to report back to Dumbledore. He’s going to think something in this house attacked me, which means you need to go to bed.”

“Why does that mean that?”

“Because you will sit here and begin to wallow again. Go to sleep.”

“Alright, Severus. Thank you.”

Without further word or gesture, Snape stood, threw on his cloak and fastened it, and snagged what little remained of the whisky. He turned and disappeared up the stairs into shadow.

As agreed, Lupin also stood. Up in his room, he slid his hand under his mattress. It was habit to keep them there, but Sirius was gone. No longer was it necessary. With careful hands, he pulled out the black and red lace and silk, only four articles in total. His finger stroked the gentle material each in turn as he folded them and carefully placed them in one of his many empty drawers.

No one was around to find them.