Grey in the Dark - III
Grey in the Dark
III
Though it may have been childish of him to have refused to answer the knock at the door it had also been extremely effective. Despite knowing that, this time at least, Snape really hadn’t meant to offend him Remus just didn’t feel up to the task of playing nice with the man, preferring instead to turn up the volume on Closer. To his pleasure, Snape had given up and left the potion by the door, thus doubly rewarding him by giving him both his medicine and his privacy. It worked just as well the next day, too, and the day after that.
By the end of the third day Remus had discovered that he was actually enjoying his self-imposed exile in his rooms, comfortable in his bedclothes, surrounded by his books and music, occasionally slipping down to the kitchens for a bit of food but mostly doing just as he pleased. Admittedly, most of what he wanted to do was to sleep, whether in his bed or curled up in his favourite armchair in front of the fire, headphones filing his dreams with music and blocking out the invasive outside world. Whether his inertia was derived from the medicine he was taking or from his own secret laziness he didn’t know, nor did it matter. What mattered was sitting in front of the large window in his bedroom, a glass of Glenfiddich in one hand and Nick Drake playing on his magically-enhanced stereo, watching as the sun gently swooned beneath the horizon.
On the fourth day, things fell apart again.
The day had begun pleasantly enough; he’d slept until noon, had a long and relaxing soak in his bath and a small meal of cold chicken pie before falling back asleep in his chair listening to loveless. The disc had begun its second repetition, luring him briefly to his senses, when he became aware of someone unobtrusively entering his room. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to figure out who it was.
Damn. Leave it to me to be so excited about taking a nap that I forget to lock my own door. ‘Just leave it on the table, please.’
‘No.’
Well, then. Stretching languorously, he opened his eyes enough to make out Snape standing opposite him by the door, stiff and formal, the usual goblet in one hand and a black leather bag in the other. ‘Why not?’
‘You need another examination.’
‘So you just barge into my chambers unannounced?’
‘Your door was unlocked. Besides, for all I knew, you’d been lying dead on the floor since Tuesday.’
‘How touching that you care.’
‘I don’t. But if you care about your job, you’re going to have to get used to allowing the required examinations.’
‘Hmm. . . so I do what you say or I get sacked? Blackmail always has been a talent of yours, hasn’t it?’ Remus mused, smiling mirthlessly at the other man’s almost wounded look. Watch yourself, now. Piss him off too much and there will be no medicine and no job. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he gestured brusquely to the end table by his chair. ‘Get on with it, then.’
Snape didn’t move. ‘I’m going to have to do it before you take the potion and again half an hour afterward.’
Remus gave a brusque jerk of his head. ‘Fine.’
He walked calmly to the table, eyeing him all the while as though he expected him to pounce. As before, Snape set out all his instruments in perfectly precise order but this time he made no attempt at polite conversation. He was finished in moments.
‘Drink the potion. I’ll be back in half an hour. Make sure you get something to eat after you drink it; it helps with the nausea.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be in any condition to go down to the kitchen after this,’ Remus admitted, feeling his stomach turn as a whiff of the noxious liquid hit him.
‘You don’t have to go down to the kitchen. Just ring for one of the house-elves.’
‘I would, but they won’t come to my rooms unless I’m gone. It seems Filtch has convinced them that werewolves like to eat house-elves,’ he explained, ignoring Snape’s failed attempt not to smirk. ‘Even when I go down to the kitchens, they all disappear except for that sort of mental one, Dobby.’
His amusement faded into an expression Remus would almost credit with being concern. ‘Have you been eating regular meals at all over the past three days?’
‘Here and there. Mostly, I’ve been sleeping.’
Making a noncommital noise, Snape moved to let himself out again. ‘Drink that. I’ll be back later.’
Remus stared at the loathsome drink for a few moments, using his wand to summon a fairly large glass of whisky before even attempting to choke it down. The smell and taste hadn’t improved over the past few doses, but he was getting better at handling the urge to vomit copiously after each swallow. A quick soaking of his head in a sinkful of cold water helped to stave off the initial headache and a second glass of whisky helped things improve considerably.
Comfortable again in his chair, he idly gathered his thoughts as he waited for his unwilling physician to return.
I have to take control of myself and stop acting so aggressively. Making him angry is going to do me no good at all. Of course, him goading me isn’t going to smooth things over either. It’s hard to be around him at all, much less let him into my den and let him touch me, especially with it being so close to the full moon. Wolf recognises him, knows who he is; it remembers him as its toy, something to play with and to hurt. I can’t let it do that anymore. Recalling how easily he’d brought him to the point of losing control sent a nervous wave through his body and his sudden need to be sick had nothing to do with the effects of the potion. Although his conscious mind rejected what they’d done together back in school, his subconscious retained in glorious detail how thrilling and satisfying it had been for him, how pleasurable it was to have someone be so very willing to submit themselves so completely to his darker instincts. It had proved surprisingly easy to separate himself from his usual need for closeness, gentleness and affection and allow wolf to satiate its needs for once.
Not too surprising, really; sex is something completely different from power. And at any rate, I think I’ve since managed to prove to myself that I don’t need to be emotionally close to someone in order to please myself physically with them. Something to be proud of, I’m sure. Still, no need to worry about that now. It was much harder to control wolf and handle adolescence at the same time; being grown-up, weary and bitter makes things so much easier. I don’t miss sleeping with someone as much as I do just not being alone.
Oddly, when Remus picked up his glass it was empty again. Getting up to pour another measure, he paused to turn the music up as well before again making himself comfortable in his oversized nest of a chair. Sipping at the honeyed peat of the liquid in his glass and mulling over his own private intricacies, he almost missed the faint creaking of his door sliding open.
Snape swept into the room bearing a small, covered platter that he set on the end table, carefully placing it as far away as possible from his neat display of medical tools.
‘You shouldn’t be drinking.’
‘Yes, well, there are lots of things I shouldn’t do and I think I’ve done most of them by now. What’s that?’
‘Something to eat. You should try to eat whatever you can before much longer.’ He turned around abruptly to rearrange the already perfect line of his implements, his black hair swinging forward to hide his face. ‘I spoke to the house-elves. They will bring you food in the future.’
He blinked with surprise. Snape, interceding on his behalf? So the man was capable of kindness after all, unless he’d done it simply because it would look bad if his patient were to die. ‘Thank you. I’ll eat after the examination.’
‘If you’re ready to begin?’
Remus nodded, turning himself at an angle in his chair so his back would be accessible.
‘Would you turn down the music? It will interfere with the stethoscope.’
He obliged, lowering the volume to a mere murmur.
‘If you enchanted that, the music wouldn’t sound so warped,’ Snape informed him, bringing his wand around to check his pupils.
Though he’d heard it before, the sentiment still made Remus smile. ‘It’s already enchanted. That’s how the album is supposed to sound.’
His only response was a condescending glare and an order stay quiet while he was using his stethoscope. The glare endured until the time came for him to take his pulse and suddenly he seemed unable to make eye contact.
I make him nervous, Remus realised slowly. Stealing a look out of the corner of his eye, he noted the faint flush in the other man’s usually waxen face and the slight trembling of the hand that gingerly touched his wrist. The first time, he’d chalked it up to distaste but now his mind began to entertain another possibility, one seconded by his preternatural senses.
I make him more than nervous, he decided, closing his eyes for the long minute of pulse-taking to focus completely on the complex array of scents he could detect. Despite requiring him to pay more attention as he’d gotten older, his wolf-sharpened olfactory sense rarely misled him.
Concentrating, he could smell the whisky on the table beside him, chicken under the cover of the dish, the wolfbane residue in the goblet; the wood in the fireplace was a mixture of pine and apple, it was time for him to wash his pyjamas, touching his skin brought faint metallic and myrrh-like notes to Snape’s bitter-resiny-mineral scent signature. He’s good at hiding his emotions, isn’t he? Very good. . . not good enough to fool me, though, and I bet he knows it. No wonder he’s so nervous. He can fake it all he likes, but I know discomfort when I smell it and I know attraction, too. He pondered this as the other man finished his ministrations and began re-packing his belongings, beginning to feel slightly disappointed in himself.
Here I’ve been a complete bastard, avoiding him as much as I could since I got here, being rude and snarky and assuming his attitude stemmed from an inherent dislike of me when in fact he secretly fancies me! Fucking hell, what to do now?
‘Shall I come back tomorrow, or will you find yourself available to leave your rooms?’
Remus opened his mouth to speak, surprised to find that he’d come to a decision without realising it. ‘Why don’t you stay? We could, er, maybe have a drink? I only have tea and coffee, I’m afraid. . . oh, and whisky, if you like. Twelve-year-old Glenfiddich,’ he added, unsure if the delineation would mean anything to the other man.
If his expression was anything to go by, Snape was as confused by his sudden offer as he was himself. To Remus' amazement, instead of stalking out of the door, glaring, or dressing him down verbally for asking, he sat down cautiously in the chair opposite his own, his expression both curious and wary. ‘Whisky, please.’
He gave his wand a flick and a glass of whisky appeared on the small table next to his guest.
‘I, ah, want to thank you. For letting me have the potion, for making sure it doesn’t kill me and for telling me that I’m going to die anyway.’
A flicker of a smile hovered on his lips or was it just a trick of the firelight? ‘I doubt you needed me to tell you that; we’re all going to die eventually. Everyone’s thread is cut.’
‘Some of us sooner than others.’ Remus took a deep mouthful of whisky, trying to dislodge the lump that suddenly formed in his throat.
Snape bowed his head. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘I know. It’s just. . . hard to forget, especially now that I’m here again. I know you didn’t mean any offense the other day when you. . . when you said his name. You really shouldn’t ever say it again around me, and not just because I hate to hear it. It’s a trigger for me; Tobin says all werewolves have them, be it a scent or an object or a name, and those triggers can and do make us lose control completely. They wake the wolf in a way that renders the human generally incapable of controlling it.’
‘You controlled yourself very well.’
‘I’ve had practise. The alcohol didn’t hurt, either. Actually, the only way I could ever talk about him with Tobin was when I was pissed to the teeth or coming down from the Segarantir.’
‘I am. . . sorry. . . about what I said. I ought to have known better than to do such a thing, especially with the potion affecting you.’
‘How does it affect me exactly? And sorry, but would you mind if I ate while you talk? I am rather hungry.’
‘I told you that you would need to eat, didn’t I?’
Taking that as an affirmative, Remus eagerly lifted the dish from the table to his lap. Under the cover lay half a roasted chicken, some creamed spinach and a few rolls, doubtlessly the remains of lunch but still tempting enough to make him salivate. Intent on not devouring his food all at once, he bit decorously into a roll then turned his attention back to Snape. He watched as the potions master spoke about the theory and reality of the Wolfsbane potion, his face gaining a life and a vibrancy he rarely displayed in any other circumstance. The part of his mind not busy with listening or consuming food began to notice how much more comfortable the other man had become, how much more engaging he seemed, how approachable he appeared without all his masks.
How utterly mortified he’d probably be if he knew what I was thinking, he reminded himself dryly. Not that I’m exactly thrilled to find myself thinking these things, either. . . Maybe it’s the moon, maybe it’s wolf’s memory, maybe it’s just boredom or accessibility. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re both adults now and free to do as we please, whatever that might be.
They sat talking politely until well after the moon rose and Remus found himself needing to stifle a yawn.
‘Sorry! You’re not boring me or anything, I’m just getting tired.’ He was pleased to see his weak joke raise the ghost of a smile.
‘Of course. I shouldn’t have stayed so long.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He rose along with Snape, walking him the few steps to the door. ‘I enjoyed myself quite a bit. Thank you.’
‘Er. . . yes.’ Severus looked perplexed as though being thanked was unexpected. Perhaps it was. ‘See you tomorrow, then. Good night.’
‘Good night.’ As Remus closed the door(making sure to lock it), the seeds of an idea began to grow.
~
{cut quote from Depeche Mode, 'Personal Jesus'.}