Entry tags:

fest, fic, nc-17, remus, slash, snape, snape/lupin, snupin

Fic: To Keep Calendars in the Absence of Time
Title: To Keep Calendars in the Absence of Time
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: rimming
Word Count: 17,350
Summary:Severus finds that there can be many reasons to keep track of the days, even in a place where time has no meaning.
Author's Notes: Written for snapetoy in merry_smutmas, December 2007. My undying gratitude to everyone who provided their input along the way, including eeyore9990 for encouragement and a brilliant suggestion, alisanne for last-minute assistance, and most especially to nehalenia, for everything.

To Keep Calendars in the Absence of Time

I

Many times over the years, Severus had thought about his own death. He had envisioned all manners of demise for himself, some more gruesome than others, depending upon the bleakness of his mood. Similarly, the afterlife of his imagination had taken an array of forms. Never once had he considered that it might resemble Spinner's End.

Yet here he was, standing before a perfect replica of his broken down childhood home. One minute he was looking up into Lily's green eyes -- no, Potter's -- and struggling for breath, and the next he was in the middle of the cobbled street on which he had grown up. It was painfully familiar, broken street lamps, boarded up windows, weathered paint and all. There was, however, no distinctive scent in the air to suggest the polluted river nearby, and the entire street with its brick row houses was surrounded by a dense wood that had certainly never existed in Severus' lifetime.

There was no question about it, then. This was not the "real" Spinner's End, and Severus was most decidedly deceased. The latter was not terribly surprising, all in all. Although he might have hoped for a better end than messy death via the Dark Lord's pet snake, Severus had never truly expected to survive the war. He was also somehow not surprised that no one had shown up to welcome him to the afterlife. In fact, he had seen no evidence of another person yet at all. The street was still, and no sound disturbed the scene save the chirping of birds and the occasional crick of insects.

Beginning to feel ridiculous standing out on the worn cobblestones and waiting for something to happen, Severus moved towards the last house on the row out of old habit. Turning the knob, he found the front door unlocked. With a push, the door swung inward, scraping the floor near the end of its arc as it had begun to do in recent years. Severus reached into his robes and was relieved to discover that he still had his wand. He didn't know whether magic worked here, or whether he could even be harmed, but the length of wood in his grip was reassuring nonetheless. Wand in hand, Severus stepped through the door.

Weak beams of sunlight filtered in through the grimy kitchen windows, barely illuminating the two downstairs rooms. The gloom didn't quite hide the layers of dust that coated every surface and the pervasive signs of neglect. A quick survey of the house revealed that everything was precisely as Severus had last left it, to the best of his recollection. It was as though he had returned to the dismal place at the end of the school year to pass the summer in seclusion. Only the view of lush trees out every window provided evidence to the contrary.

Uncertain what it was he was meant to do, assuming he was meant to do anything at all, Severus settled in to await some change or sign. He spent the better part of the day idly waving his wand about in order to test the effects of magic in this place, and was both disappointed and relieved to find that it appeared to work just as it always had. Afternoon bled into evening in an entirely normal manner as well, and Severus was vaguely surprised to find himself growing hungry. Did the dead truly need to eat? Apparently they did, since, upon inspection, Severus discovered that his kitchen was fully provisioned.

After dinner, Severus alternately browsed his book shelves and gazed out the front window at not-Spinner's End. When it grew dark, he read by the light of several candles, the Muggle light bulbs having burned out long ago. Eventually, he began to nod off over his book, and, not having anything better to do, he climbed the narrow staircase and went to bed.

On the second day, when nothing noteworthy had transpired by mid-afternoon, Severus decided to explore his immediate surroundings a bit more. Leaving his house, he slowly circled the row of buildings lining the street, pausing occasionally to peer into windows or prod at crumbling woodwork. Everything was as he remembered it, except that the narrow homes, boarded up and otherwise, were entirely devoid of occupants.

Turning his attention to the woods surrounding the displaced scene, Severus headed for the tree line and wove in and out of the foliage, mentally cataloguing an array of potential potions ingredients as he went. Not that he intended to spend eternity hanging about a copy of his dismal family home, of course, but it was always good to remember where useful flora and fauna could be found. The woods were pleasant enough, at any rate; not menacing and sinister as the Forbidden Forest could often seem, but sunlit and bustling. Severus appreciated the irony when his mind supplied the descriptive phrase "full of life".

Eventually returning to his house to prepare dinner, Severus spent his second evening as a dead man much as he had the first. In truth, he found himself rather enjoying the peace and quiet, the strange and unexpected nature of it all notwithstanding. He couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the universe at large was finally allowing him a bit of a well-earned reprieve.

On the morning of the third day, Severus concluded that no visitor or signal was forthcoming, so he packed a lunch and set out to investigate his situation more thoroughly. He planned to enter the woods and walk in one direction until he either found whatever was on the other side, or was forced to turn back in order to return to his house before dark. If he discovered nothing of interest in that direction, he'd simply choose another bearing the next day. After all, there appeared to be plenty of time to solve the puzzle in a methodical and leisurely fashion.

Severus began walking east. At least, he chose to think of it as "east", since it was the direction in which the sun had risen the last two mornings. He quickly found that the forest was quite dense in some patches, full of branches and thorny plants that liked to slap at his face and tangle in his robes when he let his guard down. Severus had never precisely been fond of the outdoors, preferring his dog-eared books and fresh parchments to tall trees and skinned knees even in his youth. Still, the placidity of the place and the knowledge that, for once, his mission was not one of life and death put him at ease, and he pressed steadily on.

Roughly two hours passed without sign of anything more aberrant than a wild hare in a bush. Spotting what appeared to be a clearing up ahead, Severus decided he would pause to eat. As he pushed through the last of the brush into what he had believed to be a clearing, however, he stopped dead in his tracks, jaw going slack in disbelief. There before him was the replica of Spinner's End, but he had approached it from the west side.

He must have become turned around in the woods and gone in a great circle. He hadn't been paying close enough attention to his bearings. It was the only logical explanation. The notion of lunch forgotten, Severus hastened to the last house on the street to make certain that it was, indeed, the same building. Everything inside was as he had left it that morning; the tea pot on the old Muggle stove, his book by the chair. This was the same house, then, and not another facsimile. Severus told himself that he had merely been distracted by his thoughts and lost his sense of direction, yet it did little to abate his unease.

Exiting the house, Severus resolved to make another attempt. This time he walked north, making frequent use of a directional spell and determinedly keeping his mind on the task at hand. Thus, when he burst out of the tree line to a view of the south side of Spinner's End two hours later, he knew with absolute certainty that he hadn't veered off course.

Severus tried again, entering the forest from the southwest, and again, entering from the northwest, a sense of desperation expanding in his chest with each trip. It was dusk when he pushed through the tree line to a view of Spinner's End for the fourth time, and fell to his knees, robes torn and hair damp and stringy with sweat. Severus didn't make dinner or read by candlelight that night, but eventually fell into a fitful sleep on the lumpy sofa.

On the fourth day, Severus made a calendar. Since he was clearly stuck in this place for the time being, he might as well keep track of the date and maintain some sort of schedule, he reasoned. The fact that he was dead was no excuse to become idle and undisciplined, and besides, he'd want to know how much time had passed when he eventually found a way out. So he made a calendar, beginning on the day of his arrival, and carefully marked off the first four boxes. After hanging his work on his kitchen wall, he made lunch, then set about mending the tears in his robes from the day before.

The next three weeks Severus spent buried in texts, searching for any obscure reference that might help him find a way out of his present predicament. Every avenue of pursuit seemed to lead him on a pointless chase, and he soon felt as though he were running in futile circles, much as he had done in the woods. Realizing that he would drive himself to obsession and insanity if he continued at his current pace, he reluctantly laid his books and notes aside. He would allow the problem to simmer in the back of his mind, but turn the bulk of his attention to other activities for the time being.

On the twenty-sixth day, Severus began using magic to dig out and fortify a basement suitable for use as a potions and spell research lab. It was slow going, particularly since he had never done anything of the sort before, and he had to learn the appropriate spells and wards as he went. Still, he was in no great rush, and in the end he was able to create a more than passable work space. Several more days were spent transfiguring loose cobble stones into ladles and flasks and vials, and collecting a variety of ingredients. By the time Severus was ready to begin brewing, he had meticulously marked two months off his calendar.

Severus pragmatically chose to view his present circumstances as his opportunity to conduct the research and experimentation for which he'd had precious little time in life. As far as potions went, he was limited somewhat by the resources available to him, but he took this as another challenge, and began working to formulate new and better uses for common ingredients. He quickly fell into a flexible routine, taking pleasure in his newfound ability to set his own schedule, and work only on what he wished, as little or as much as he wished, each day. For the first time since he was an adolescent, he was beholden to no master, a slave to no one else's demands. Yet he was keenly aware that he was just as much a prisoner as he ever had been.

As the weeks passed, Severus came to realize that, although there were days and nights in his private corner of the afterlife, there were no seasons. The air remained warm, and the woods stayed continuously in the full bustle and bloom of spring. Some days Severus spent long hours in the forest surrounding his home, taking pleasure in the tranquil setting, the rich colors and subtle sounds. At other times he was intensely aware of the forest as a looming, confining presence, a prison with tree branches in place of bars, a dungeon more effective than any oubliette. During these periods, he avoided the woods entirely, shutting himself up in his small house and closing the curtains so that he could see no hint of green.

No other human being had yet entered Severus' self-contained world. Severus frequently reminded himself that he enjoyed the peace and solitude, that it was what he had always wanted. There was no one in the afterlife he would truly wish to see anyway, with the possible exception of Albus. He pointedly tried not to think of Lily, who most likely didn't care to see him, and whose debt he had at last repaid with his own life. No, he had no need for other people and their insipid smiles and tiresome conversation. Severus did wonder about the outcome of the war, but it was no longer his concern or his battle to fight, and that, admittedly, was a relief.

On the one-hundred forty-third day, Severus made a breakthrough with his potions experimentation, having discovered a previously-unknown property of common fluxweed, making the plant potentially useful in much more potent draughts. Smirking in satisfaction, he lowered the flame on his cauldron and wiped his hands on a nearby cloth before strutting out of his lab. He made it as far as his kitchen before he stopped suddenly, the pleased expression falling from his face.

Abruptly Severus realized that he had no way to publicize his work, no way to tell anyone what he had achieved. No matter what he accomplished here, it could gain him no measure of notoriety or respect. His work would continue to go unlauded, and Severus would be forced to swallow the bitter pill of disappointment as he had so many times in life.

Severus didn't bother getting out of bed at all the following day. Then, on day one-hundred fifty-six, he rose early and returned to working with the fluxweed. With its level of potency, he might be able to substitute it for certain other, less common ingredients in a variety of potions.

On the one hundred ninety-eighth day, when Severus went to mark his calendar, his hands began to shake. Dropping his quill, he grabbed the calendar in both fists and tore it violently from the wall. With a feral shout, he hurled the offending thing across the room. It sailed through the air, pages flapping, then hit the far wall and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Severus had his wand out before the calendar even hit the ground, and with a well-aimed Incendio, the sad bundle of parchment went up in a flash of flame and smoke.

After breakfast the next morning, Severus made a new calendar. It was identical to the one previous, and began on precisely the same day. Severus marked off one-hundred ninety-nine days before hanging it on the kitchen wall and returning to his lab.

The solitude and confinement wore more heavily on Severus from that point onward. He lay in bed some nights, unable to sleep, listening to the sounds surrounding him. As the crickets and frogs and other nocturnal creatures went about their business, Severus wondered if they were real, or if they were tiny golems manufactured solely for his benefit. The endless buzzes and clicks and croaks took on a sinister tone, and were too loud to allow Severus any rest.

In the evenings, Severus worked his way through the sizeable number of books on his overfull shelves that he'd not found time to read before he died. He still took pleasure in reading, perhaps now more than ever, since it served as something of an escape from his situation. Aware that no new volumes would be forthcoming, he consciously tried to go slowly and savor the printed words.

On the two-hundred fifty-first day, Severus realized that there was only one unread book remaining. Reluctantly, he put it back on the shelf, wishing to save it for as long as possible. The tome seemed to call to him from its resting place, until, on day two-hundred seventy-three, Severus retrieved it and began reading. When he completed it three days later, Severus couldn't rationally explain why he felt as though he had just lost someone important to him.

It was about then that the dreams began. They were neither remarkably good nor exceptionally bad, and no common theme ran through them. Regardless of plot or setting, they were all so incredibly vivid that, upon waking, it took Severus several confused moments to sort out what was real from what was not. Although the dreams often left him disoriented and morose, he refused to resort to Dreamless Sleep. The night-time illusions were the only contact with other people and places he had, and they at least felt real while they were taking place.

Severus was careful not to dwell too much in dreams, however. He forced himself to maintain a relatively stable routine, fearful that if he allowed himself to fall into an irregular schedule, he'd lose track of the days. If he lost track of the days, his sanity might not be far behind. He was rapidly losing hope of ever finding a way out of his prison, and wished desperately for anyone, anything to break the monotony or give him the slightest sign that something still existed beyond his tiny domain.

On the three-hundred sixteenth day, Remus Lupin arrived.

II

It was approaching noon when Severus stumbled blearily downstairs to mark his calendar and put the kettle on for tea. He hadn't slept well the night before. In truth, he hadn't slept well in several days, but he'd learned that staying in bed wouldn't gain him any additional rest. While waiting for the water to boil, Severus shuffled a few paces into his sitting room and turned his gaze to the front window. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the sight that greeted him.

For months, the only variation in the view out Severus' windows involved the appearance of random insects and birds, or perhaps the odd rabbit or squirrel. Now ambling up the road toward Severus' house in all its shabby, greying glory was one decidedly familiar werewolf. Severus blinked, rubbed his eyes, blinked again. The vision remained. Severus was fairly certain that he'd just gone completely round the twist, but if this was insanity, at that moment he decided he'd welcome it with open arms.

Throwing his front door open wide, Severus rushed out of his house. He traveled a few unsteady paces to the street, then stopped short, uncertain as to what he should do. Lupin's head swiveled slowly toward the source of the disturbance. "Severus?" Lupin asked, brow knitting together in confusion. "Where are we?"

Severus' pulse hammered in his throat and he struggled to compose himself, to recall how to behave normally. "I'd rather hoped you might be able to shed some light on that matter," he replied, privately startled at the sound of his own voice, rough from months of disuse.

Appearing dazed, Lupin glanced around the replica of Spinner's End then shook his head. "No, I've never seen this place before in my life."

Aware of the irony in Lupin's words, Severus snorted in uneasy amusement. "I should certainly hope not."

Lupin seemed to gather his wits and realize with whom he was speaking then. "Sev-- Snape! You traitorous, murdering bastard!" he exclaimed, drawing his wand and training it on Severus.

The maneuver was executed slowly enough that Severus could have immobilized Lupin if he'd wished. Instead, he merely folded his arms and looked disparagingly at the wand-wielding werewolf. "Put that down," he demanded. "You can't kill me; I'm already dead."

A confused expression passed over Lupin's features again before he said, "You deserve to die for what you've done!"

Although he was careful to show no outward sign that he was affected by Lupin's outburst, the accusation stung. Even in death he was to receive no acknowledgment for all he'd done and sacrificed, it seemed. Suppressing a sigh, Severus asked, "Lupin, what's the last thing you remember?"

"What..?" Lupin's hand wavered.

"Humor me."

"I was… the battle… fighting a Death Eater, I think it was Dolohov… Curses flying everywhere, it was utter chaos. A bolt of green… I wasn't fast enough to dodge it…" Lupin's disjointed narrative trailed off and Lupin blinked. "So I'm dead?"

"So it would seem," Severus said.

"And this is the afterlife?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"My, aren't you just full of answers," Lupin remarked dryly. It was a statement, not a question.

Severus answered anyway. "Yes."

With a bark of bitter laughter, Lupin said, "It's nice to see that some things never change."

Oh, but things did change. Never had Severus expected there to come a day when he would be pleased to see Remus Lupin. He couldn't begin to imagine why Lupin, of all people, was here. It could be worse, he supposed. At least it wasn't Potter or Black. Still, in that moment, Severus lost all hope of the universe ultimately making sense.

Rather than putting voice to these thoughts, Severus merely shot a pointed look at the wand Lupin was still leveling at his chest. Lupin looked down at it as well, then dropped his arm with a weary sigh. "Fine, I suppose it's not my concern anymore. Just point me to the road out of here, and I'll be on my way."

Would the forest open up for Lupin? Severus' chest constricted at the thought of being left alone again so soon. "Not so fast," he said. "I have questions."

Lupin merely looked at Severus, his expression one of dubious curiosity. Severus quickly collected his thoughts and asked, "From your rambling and inarticulate account, I am to take it that you died in a battle against Death Eaters?"

"So it would seem," Lupin replied, echoing Severus' own earlier words and smiling wryly.

"When and where did this battle take place?"

"Hogwarts," Lupin began. "We received word that Harry was inside the school, and Voldemort was coming for him. That… you had fled, and the resistance was preparing to fight. The attack came at midnight. I led a group onto the grounds, and ended up dueling Dolohov. Funny, I hadn't realized you were dead…"

"That's not possible!" Snape said.

"What? Why not?"

"I was killed during the battle at Hogwarts. That would mean we died on the same night. Likely within minutes of each other." Severus balled his hands into fists to stop the trembling that had started in his fingers.

"Don't tell me you're going to get competitive about which one of us died first," Lupin said.

Preoccupied with the implications of Lupin's news, Severus was no longer listening. It wasn't possible. Severus had been in his self-contained afterlife for more than ten months. For three-hundred sixteen days, to be precise. He'd kept a calendar, for Merlin's sake. Yet Lupin claimed to have just come from the battle. It wasn't possible.

"You look like hell," Remus observed, interrupting Severus' circular thoughts.

Severus sniffed. "I was eaten by a snake, you know." The statement was, of course, an exaggeration, and an incongruous one at that. His present appearance had nothing whatsoever to do with the manner of his death. Rather, his recent lack of sleep had left him even more pale than usual, with dark circles under his eyes. Nevertheless, his remark seemed to distract Lupin adequately.

"Really? A snake?" Lupin asked, appearing vaguely intrigued and amused. "Wait, not Voldemort's snake?"

"One and the same," Severus said darkly.

"Voldemort killed you? At the battle?" Lupin asked, his eyes widening as he seemed to put the pieces together in his head. "But why would… Oh god. You were on our side all the time, weren't you?"

"You always were rather slow on the uptake, Lupin," Severus said by way of confirmation.

"Oh. Oh Merlin," Lupin breathed. "That means… Oh, Severus."

Although he was thankful that Lupin had discerned the truth without his having to spell it out explicitly, Severus was uncomfortable with Lupin's obvious horror and pity. Scowling, he said, "For the love of god, man, it hardly matters now. Come inside, have some tea, and let's attempt to rationally examine what's going on here. If that's not asking too much of your weak and addled mind in one day, that is."

At the mention of tea, Severus recalled the kettle he'd left on the stove. Turning on his heel, he swept back towards his house, but shot a look over his shoulder before entering to be sure that Lupin was following. Lupin was, indeed, following, and Severus just had time to rescue his kettle and begin the process of making tea over again before Lupin entered the kitchen behind him. "Tea in the afterlife," Lupin remarked. "This must be the Englishman's heaven."

To the contrary, Severus had come to think of this place as his own private hell some time ago. Thus he refrained from commenting and focused on making the tea instead. Realizing that he'd not yet had breakfast, he quickly added toast with jam as well. All the while he was acutely aware of Lupin's presence, and fought against his inclination to stare at the other man, to go over and poke him to be certain he was solid.

"So it's still necessary to eat?" Lupin asked, looking curiously at the tea tray as Severus levitated it to the small dining table. "Or is it more of a hobby?"

"I don't know that it's strictly necessary" Severus said, "but I do feel hungry if I don't eat." He'd occasionally gone two and three days at a time without eating at all, when he simply couldn't bring himself to care. At other times, he'd eaten purely out of boredom, even though the food in his stores had long since lost its appeal. As soon as Severus had become aware of his situation, he'd begun duplicating his supplies and placing Preserving Charms on the perishable items. Shortage was not a concern, but lack of variety was the curse of this place.

"Huh," Lupin said, pulling Severus out of his thoughts. As he brought his tea cup to his lips, Severus quirked an eyebrow in inquiry. Lupin shrugged. "It's just not quite what I would have expected, I suppose," he said wryly.

"You don't know the half of it," Severus said, more to himself than to Lupin.

Severus watched closely as Lupin glanced about the room, his eyes at last falling on the calendar. A peculiar look passed over Lupin's features. "Severus, I thought you said we died on the same day."

"I did," Severus replied, setting his cup down. As much as he didn't wish to examine the matter and its implications too closely, he knew it couldn't be avoided for long.

"But you've been keeping a calendar… How long have you been here?"

Severus managed to deliver the answer in a dispassionate tone. "Just over ten months."

Lupin opened his mouth to speak, but it took him some moments to form the words. "How is that possible?"

"Obviously, time doesn't work the way we're accustomed to here," Severus said irritably, as though it should be readily apparent.

Shaking his head, Lupin seemed to take a moment to absorb this news. "What have you done with yourself here for ten months, then?" he asked.

"Read. Brewed potions. I've finally found the time to pursue some of my own spell development and potions research," Severus explained. "Granted, I'm somewhat limited by the supplies that are readily available to me here, and have had to take that into account when planning my projects. However, I've made several significant breakthroughs already. I've discovered a previously unrealized property of common fluxweed that allows it to be substituted, with some modifications, as an ingredient in much more potent elixirs. Most recently I've been working on applying certain principles of Arithmancy to…"

Severus realized that he was, for all intents and purposes, babbling. To Remus Lupin, no less. Apparently, he was determined to make up for ten months of silence in the span of a single afternoon. Looking down at his toast, he affected a condescending tone and said, "But I'm sure you must find such subjects most tedious, and would rather be spared the detail."

"No, it's not tedious at all," Lupin insisted. "Though I must say," he continued, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a mischievous smile, "somehow I'm not surprised that you've chosen to keep yourself shut up in such an isolated place."

"It wasn't my choice," Severus said flatly.

"How's that?"

"It is impossible to leave." Severus couldn't be certain that it was entirely the truth, however. For all he knew, the woods would allow Lupin to pass, but keep Severus trapped forever.

"Why not?" Lupin asked, frowning. "What's beyond the forest?"

"There is no 'beyond the forest'," replied Severus.

Stubbornly, Lupin insisted, "That doesn't make any sense."

Severus rose from the table abruptly. "Come. I'll show you."

Lupin appeared puzzled, but he stood and followed Severus out of the house and to the edge of the woods without protest. Although he was intimately familiar with much of the forest by now, Severus instructed Lupin to use a directional spell to prevent them from veering off course, then led the way into the trees.

After the first few minutes, Lupin began to ask where they were going, but Severus only replied with, "You'll see," or "Patience, Lupin," and Lupin eventually fell silent. Meanwhile, Severus grew increasingly anxious with each step. Fearful that the woods would release the other man but not him, he remained close to Lupin, periodically grabbing at his sleeve if he threatened to get out of arm's reach. If Lupin found the behavior peculiar, he didn't comment.

The woods did not open up for Lupin, but behaved exactly as they had for the past ten months. When both men emerged to the rear view of Spinner's End, Lupin stared at the desolate buildings agape. "There is no 'beyond the forest'," Severus repeated, and Lupin merely nodded, dumbstruck.

Afterward, they returned to Severus' house and spent the rest of the day in conversation, although safe topics between them were uncomfortably few. When Lupin at last suggested that it was time for him to go, Severus rolled his eyes. "Go where?" he asked. "Do you intend to sleep in the street like a vagrant? The other houses have all been unoccupied for a minimum of ten months. It will take a good deal of time and effort to make any of them fit for habitation."

"I'm sure I'll manage, Severus. I always do," Lupin said mildly.

"Don't be an idiot, Lupin. I have a second bedroom that's not in use. You might as well stay there tonight. You can make other arrangements tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" Lupin asked dubiously. "I don't want to be a nuisance." Severus shot him a withering look, and the discussion was brought to an end.

Some time later, Severus led Lupin to the smaller of the two upstairs rooms and, bidding Lupin good night, retired to his own room across the narrow hall. Severus slept soundly, without dreams, for the first time in weeks.

* * * * *

The following morning, Lupin began searching for a more suitable place to stay than in Severus' spare bedroom. Of course Severus had been right; the other houses were in wretched condition. Granted, it seemed that Lupin had plenty of time on his hands to remedy that situation, but it meant that he would have to depend upon Severus' hospitality until he could make one of the homes livable. Lupin looked apologetic, and Severus attempted to appear vaguely put out. Inwardly, Severus was pleased and relieved beyond measure.

After deliberation, Lupin chose the house connecting to Severus', since it was among the most structurally sound. As Lupin began the arduous process of cleaning, repairing, and reinforcing the place, Severus returned to work on his latest spell research, encouraged by the notion that there might now be someone with whom he could share his results. At least, Severus did his best to focus on his work, but he was frequently overwhelmed by the compulsion to simply check on Lupin, to see him and to make certain he was still there. His excuses for interrupting Lupin were thinly veiled at best, but if Lupin saw through them, he played along and never called Severus on his duplicity.

The pair took meals together throughout the day, and in the evenings they talked, or sat downstairs and read. After months of solitude, Severus very much wanted to spend time around another person, but he didn't entirely know how to go about it. He'd never cared about social niceties in life, and he now worried that Lupin would be put off if he was too brusque or blunt or awkward. Fortunately, Lupin's easy going manner made things easier for him, the unflappable demeanor that had always infuriated Severus in the past now serving to set him at ease. There were still times when Severus was keenly reminded of his history with Lupin, and his anger flared, but his need for companionship quickly overruled his ire.

On the twelfth morning after Lupin's arrival, Lupin was clearly agitated and preoccupied. When he repeatedly failed to respond to some question from Severus and his eyes kept traveling to the calendar on the wall, Severus demanded, "For Merlin's sake, what is the problem, Lupin?"

Lupin sighed and looked at Severus woefully. "There's a moon here, you know."

"I had realized that, yes," Severus replied dryly.

"It will be full in a week, give or take," Lupin said.

Uncertain whether Lupin was implying what he thought he might be, Severus slowly said, "Lupin… I don't know if it's possible to brew wolfsbane here. Some of the necessary ingredients, I don't have at my disposal. It's possible that I could find substitutes, alter the formula, but that would take time…"

Lupin cut him off. "Do you think I'm a werewolf here, Severus?"

Severus blinked. He hadn't even considered that Lupin's lycanthropy might be cured in death. Lupin had simply always been a werewolf in Severus' mind, ever since the incident in fifth year. "I couldn't begin to guess," he said.

As the full moon approached, Lupin grew increasingly restless, not quite succeeding in hiding his anxiety behind a placid façade. On the morning before the full moon, a current of tension ran beneath the discussion as Severus and Lupin quickly made plans. It was agreed that Lupin would go into the forest before moon rise, and Severus would ward his doors and windows so strongly that nothing short of a full-blooded giant would be able to get through them.

That night, the three-hundred thirty-fourth since his arrival, Severus lay awake in the dark, his pulse racing at the slightest sound. The werewolf was something of a personal bogeyman for him, and the thought of the mindless, slavering beast outside the walls of his house made him nervous, for all that he had confidence in his own wards. Yet it was something more that kept Severus on edge. This was the first night since Lupin's arrival that they had not gone to bed directly across the hall from each other. This was the first time that he didn't know Lupin's precise location, and couldn't go check on him if he wished. Would the forest allow Lupin to leave if Severus was not there? Would Lupin simply disappear tonight, never to return?

Severus watched through the cracks in the curtains as the moon rose and began its passage across the night sky. He strained to hear a howl, a growl, a scuffling of lupine feet, but none came. Then, roughly two hours after moonrise, Severus was nearly startled out of his skin by a violent pounding from below.

Wrapping a dressing gown tightly about himself and grabbing his wand, Severus hastened downstairs. The pounding, he realized, was coming from his front door. Crossing the sitting room in three strides, he pulled the window coverings back and saw… Lupin. Not the wolf, but Lupin, appearing distinctly human.

Upon seeing Severus, Lupin threw his head back and laughed. "Severus!" he shouted, loudly enough for Severus to hear through the glass pane of the window. "Look at me! I'm human! The moon's been up for at least two hours. I'm not a werewolf!"

After only a moment's hesitation, Severus brought down his wards and opened the door. As soon as he did, Lupin reached out and grasped his shoulders. "I'm human!" Lupin repeated, grinning so broadly Severus thought his cheeks might be in danger of splitting apart. "I'm not a werewolf!"

Before Severus could formulate any sort of reply, Lupin laughed again, then lunged forward, catching Severus up in a fierce hug. Startled, Severus could do nothing but stand frozen until Lupin released him. "Congratulations," he mumbled inanely. Lupin laughed a final time, then jogged away and disappeared into the trees.

When Severus descended the stairs the next morning, he found Lupin already sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea in his hands. Lupin smiled brightly despite looking unkempt and exhausted. " 'Morning, Severus," he greeted pleasantly. "Tea's hot."

Never having been much for mornings, and being rather exhausted himself, Severus grunted a response before taking a seat and reaching for the tea pot. "I apologize for my, er, exuberance last night," Lupin said.

"Your excitement was understandable, under the circumstances," Severus replied somewhat formally. He felt vaguely embarrassed, and couldn’t quite put his finger on the cause. When Lupin said nothing more, Severus ventured, "You were out late." In fact, he knew that Lupin hadn't returned to the house until just before dawn. "What on earth were you doing?"

"Just… walking. Running. Looking at the moon. I was too excited to sit still, let alone sleep. I apologize for keeping you awake," Lupin said.

"You didn't," Severus lied.

Lupin stared at his cup in a way that made Severus doubt he was actually seeing it. "It's strange. For so long, I was defined by my lycanthropy. I spent so much of my life trying to convince people that I wasn't a horrible monster."

"You weren't," Severus said. When Lupin's eyebrows appeared to be in danger of disappearing into his hair line, Severus snorted disparagingly. "I was acquainted with many monsters in my life, Lupin. You were not one of them." It was the truth, although Severus hadn't fully admitted it until recently. "My problem with you was your inability to stand up to your friends, your willingness to go along with the crowd, and your refusal to take responsibility for your actions."

A strange look crossed Lupin's features, and for a moment Severus thought he'd gone too far. Instead of reacting with anger, however, Lupin merely said, "Yes, I think that was my problem with me, too."

* * * * *

After the full moon, Severus and Lupin resumed their established routine, although Lupin now spent more time in the woods doing Severus knew not what. Initially, Severus was uneasy when his only companion began disappearing beyond the tree line, and had difficulty focusing on his own pursuits until Lupin resurfaced. When it soon became apparent that Lupin was just as trapped as Severus, and was therefore not likely to vanish without a trace, Severus' irrational fear subsided and his thoughts turned to other matters.

Other matters, such as the night of the full moon when Lupin had latched onto Severus like some sort of overgrown parasite. It hadn't meant anything, of course. Lupin had been excited, and Severus had simply been within range. Although he chided himself for being unduly affected by what was nothing more than a casual, offhand gesture, Severus couldn't prevent himself from both hoping and fearing that something like it might happen again.

Severus had been quite content to live the better part of his life with only minimal physical contact with other people, but now he found himself seeking it out. He enthusiastically related even the smallest advancements in his research to Lupin in hopes that he might be rewarded with a literal pat on the back, or walked near enough in passing that Lupin's hand might brush his arm. He particularly relished the rare occasions when Lupin would place his hand on Severus' shoulder to gain his attention, and he began pretending not to notice when Lupin entered the room at his back.

On the three-hundred fifty-fifth morning, Lupin came into the kitchen and headed for the tea pot without so much as brushing against Severus in passing. Severus told himself he was not disappointed, and grunted a vague greeting without looking up from his parchment. "'Morning," Lupin said around a yawn. Taking a seat across from Severus, he asked, "What has you so absorbed?"

"I believe I might have thought of a new means of getting us out of here." Severus had not wholly despaired of leaving not-Spinner's End. If there was a way in, there had to be a way out, he stubbornly reasoned.

Lupin frowned. "You've not given up the idea of applying properties of fours to enhance simple charms work, have you? I'm a bit rusty, but I really am quite competent in Arithmancy and spell theory. I was thinking that perhaps I could work with you on that project, if you've no strong objection to a research partner..?" he suggested tentatively.

Severus was surprised by Lupin's proposal, but he was also well aware of the blatant redirection of the subject. Laying his parchment aside, he fixed his gaze on Lupin. "As intriguing as that offer is, I can't help but notice that you're remarkably unconcerned about the fact that you're effectively trapped in an afterlife the size of a shrivelfig with only a collection of woodland creatures and an old adversary for company."

"I'm practiced at making the best of things, I suppose," Lupin said, shrugging. "I haven't had as much time to grow tired of it as you have, and besides, I actually like hanging about with that old adversary. Who would have thought?" Lupin flashed Severus a revoltingly charming smile.

Not about to be deterred by flattery, Severus rolled his eyes. "Aren't there other people you wish to see eventually? Your delinquent friends, perhaps? Or your wife?" he asked pointedly.

The smile fell instantly from Lupin's face and his tone went cold. "That topic is not open for discussion," he said.

Intrigued by the unexpected change in Lupin's demeanor, Severus couldn't resist pushing. "Granted, if I'd been married to that walking disaster, I'd be rather pleased with the peace and quiet of this place as well. Really, Lupin, I'm familiar with the phrase 'war makes strange bedfellows', but you weren't required to take it so literally."

Lupin slammed his fist on the table hard enough to make the tea set jump off the worn surface. In all the years of their association, Severus had never seen Lupin react with anything stronger than vague disapproval, and it required considerable will to hide his surprise. "Has it ever occurred to you that there might be some things that you don't know everything about, Snape?" Lupin snarled. "One would think a spy would have a better sense of when to keep his mouth shut."

Severus' lips twitched up into a thin, humorless smile. "The truth hurts, does it, Lupin?"

A tense moment passed, then the anger slowly drained from Lupin's eyes and his head dropped forward into his hands. When he looked up again, he said, "Look, I just don't want you blaming yourself for not being able to get us out of here. I trust that you're doing everything in your power to solve our problem."

"Why the devil would I blame myself?" Severus asked, somewhat taken aback.

"Well, you were here first. It's your afterlife," Lupin said, a shadow of his usual mischievous grin returning to his features. With that, he drained his cup of tea and rose from the table. As he watched Lupin's retreating form, Severus was left wondering what had just happened.

There was once a time when Severus would have been thrilled to discover a means of infuriating Lupin, and would have taken full advantage. Now, however, he wished to remain more or less in Lupin's good graces, so he carefully avoided any further mention of Tonks. By way of apology, he reluctantly accepted Lupin's offer to assist in his research. Actually, his exact words were, "Well? I thought you wanted to help with the Arithmancy project. Are you coming or not?" but he trusted Lupin to grasp the sentiment behind them.

While he hadn't entered into the arrangement with any great hopes of finding it productive, Severus was soon forced to admit that Lupin truly hadn't been overestimating his abilities. In fact, his understanding of spell theory rivaled Snape's own, and Snape found himself quite enjoying working with a competent partner. He was only half joking when he told Lupin, "Once we get out of this abysmal afterlife, my name still goes ahead of yours when we publish." Of course, the time Lupin had available for renovating the connecting house was much reduced, but Severus didn't remark upon it.

Part 2