Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

You Will Not Kiss Me	By : Prosperosdaughter Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Remus Views: 22836 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling & her associates own the Harry Potter universe and I make no money from my stories.

Chapter List
- 83
- 84
- 85
Chapter 84: Secrets & Lies

Lupin was only home for a couple more days, but in those days he had enveloped Snape with as much tenderness as if he were made of glass. Snape felt as fragile as glass, and let himself sink into Lupin's attentions.

Lupin held him whenever they were together, and Snape wanted to be held; he relished the comfort to his ragged soul. Lupin made love to him gently and Snape gave in to every caress and kiss. He yielded himself completely for those few days being adored and cherished with kind words, soft actions and tender love. Lupin seemed to understand how badly Snape was hurting and spent his time trying to soothe him.

He did not try to pry or guess. Lupin was enough of a wizard to know that a Fidelius Charm could not be tricked or inveigled. Any question or hint that went near the subject would result in the same incapacity in Snape to either speak or even think of the Charmed secret. Even the Dark Lord could not tear a secret from a person under the Fidelius Charm, and how that man had tried.

But it was enough for Snape to rest his head against Lupin's chest, and feel his beloved's arms wrap around him, or a finger trace a loving line across his cheek as Snape sank into those blue eyes that were his freedom, and feel soft lips kiss him. His soul would calm and be fortified. If only he could have this always, as they had wanted when they bonded.

It would be so easy for him to fall into self-pity as he had done when he was younger. But things were different now. His life was different. He had Lupin and he adored him and the only way he could have this always was to ensure the downfall of the Dark Lord. It was looking to be a long-game. He was up to it. If he had Lupin and their life together to aim for – he was up to the challenge.

oooOOOooo

The next full moon passed as the last, Snape having to let his own blood ritually for his blood master, spending the afternoon before and the morning after with Lupin, tracing his memories as soon as Lupin was strong enough to see how Tonks behaved. Their two meetings this month had been uneventful: she had been kind and understanding, but had not pushed at Lupin. Lupin had hoped he had done enough to deflect her affection that he knew was borne of grief. Snape doubted it, but he kept the gnawing doubt to himself. They seemed to have reached a plateau of understanding of what needed to be borne with as much regard for the other's feelings as possible.

So November rolled into December and Lupin moved on to his next assignment, trying to convince the werewolves who lived in scattered groups in the disused tunnels of the London Underground system. Of all the urban werewolves, these were the ones that Lupin had avoided for so long. He already knew some of them, from other packs who had gravitated to the capital city in the vain hope of better lives – better pickings. Theirs were the bitterest of stories and they were the bitterest of men and women.

Lupin managed snatched conversations with Snape late into the night through the mirror, whispered exchanges of information, brief but intense messages of longing for the holiday they planned this month when Christmas would roll into full moon and then onto their new year anniversary. They could barely wait for this time together, just to be the couple they were, but for the full moon night.

Snape wondered why he had believed they would be allowed that respite they so craved. Dumbledore informed him that, with the Dark Lord out in the open, many parents had decided that Hogwarts with its ancient protective enchantments was the safest place for their children to be over Christmas, so Snape was required to stay at the school. So Snape resolved to bring Lupin to the school for Christmas. If Potter was at the Burrow, he'd be less likely to use that infernal Map of his. As far as Snape was concerned, the chances of discovery were slim.

But no. When he spoke with Lupin the next night, Dumbledore had advised Lupin to take up Molly's offer of Christmas at the Burrow because Potter would need the support. Oh, Dumbledore knew how to press the right buttons with Lupin. Didn't he just! Snape thought sourly.

Lupin complained when they spoke through the mirror that night of Dumbledore's injunction for Lupin to be more judicious in his language about Snape when he was with Potter. Dumbledore had warned him before; he warned him again. He should not give anyone reason to enquire about their relationship.

"I'm sick of it all," said Lupin. "I know I should be grateful. It's right I do my best for the Order! Oh Severus, could we not even have had this time to ourselves?"

Of course, Snape felt the same: hurt and angry. Lupin trapped with werewolves and Snape trapped with murderous vows and then their time together snatched away. Snape felt their spiral of helplessness keenly. Their bitter conversation of the unfairness of their thwarted plans that they only ever voiced to each other became so intense that Lupin had little trouble persuading Snape to Apparate to the secluded alley where Lupin was. There, amongst the dustbins and rubbish, Lupin pulled Snape into a door inset of the back of a shop, and they had sex as fierce as any afternoon before the full moon, if not more fierce for this time, Snape matched Lupin's hunger, questing, rough hands and hips through robes and trousers until Lupin had taken Snape hard and desperately as he had braced himself against that door, both men noisy and demanding, until they shouted their releases when they came. It could have been the back-alley transaction of a customer and whore, or a drunken assignation, had anyone seen or heard. But at this time and place in the City of London, the streets were deserted but for people like them.

Calming, but sweating, Lupin turned Snape back to face him and adjusted their clothes and pressed him back on the door, both hands planted either side of Snape's head as he leant his face against Snape's and Snape's arms draped around Lupin's waist.

"I wish it was all over," he rasped to Snape's ear as his hands grasped Snape's face and Snape's hands held Lupin's face close to his. "I hate this. I hate it all. I want to be home with you."

They kissed, fervently and still with longing until Snape finally broke the kiss, but their eyes still drank each other in, wild eyes, bright with passion.

It didn't matter that Dumbledore had forbidden Snape from meeting Lupin on assignment, from taking "unnecessary risks". What did Dumbledore understand of them? He was celibate and had been for nearly a century. For whatever reason Dumbledore had, he had chosen to live apart from this type of love, he had let his passions become ossified. Snape had not. He wanted every drop of love Lupin wanted to give him, and he wanted to pay it back in kind. Snape was too anguished about the Fidelius, about his being trapped, to listen to Dumbledore about Lupin now. They had wanted each other and they made it happen. Sordid, tawdry – all of that. But absolutely what their bodies craved from each other.

oooOOOooo

The first thing Snape had done when he had left Slughorn's overblown party was to toe off his boots and check the mirror. Lupin had not called. He had not missed him. He placed the mirror carefully on the table, hoping Lupin would be able to call him this night and give him some peace of mind.

He sat at his table and Summoned the Firewhiskey and a glass and leant his mouth onto the fingers of his hand in thought, whilst he drummed his wand lightly on the table with the other.

His two charges: Malfoy and Potter. Both the subject of vows that directed and consumed his life. Both ungrateful, spoilt, rash brats. His dark eyes flashed with temper.

Both of them were up to no good, but surely only Malfoy was murderous? The sainted Chosen One (he sneered) would never undertake what Malfoy had. Who knew what Potter was capable of under duress? Would he undertake to murder someone to save his own skin?

Snape stood, suddenly furious because he knew the answer.

"The stupid boy!" he spat to the empty room, and paced, as a crackle of magical energy discharged from his wand.

Malfoy could deny as much as he liked that he was responsible for the Rosier necklace. Lie, lie and deny – it should be the Malfoy motto, Snape thought acidly. Hadn't Lucius done exactly the same after the first Wizarding war?

Malfoy had a plan. It was taking longer than he thought. Snape turned it over and over in his mind, but came up with nothing – just like his Legilimency had come up with nothing. Now that had been a surprise. Malfoy had always been an adept pupil if he was so inclined. A perfect Occlumency barrier against him. That took some doing, and it took no little study on Malfoy's part. Under other circumstances, Snape would have respected Malfoy for it. He snorted in derision as he found himself comparing Potter with Malfoy yet again.

Ah! But Potter didn't want to learn, did he? The Chosen One and his oh-so-important personal connection to the Dark Lord. How very special. It would always be what Snape thought. Even now, he saw the resentment – no, hatred – in Potter's eyes that somehow he, Snape, was responsible for Potter's appalling refusal to learn or Dumbledore's refusal to listen.

He kicked out at a side table so it toppled in impotent anger and dropped back in his chair again.

Malfoy and his cronies had given no such time or attention to their studies this year. Snape had even been putting members of his own House into detention for the lack of any effort whatsoever. The sea-change in respect for him had to be watched. Bellatrix was behind it. He had to be careful; it was a dangerous time. So much hung in the balance.

He rested his head in his hands and breathed deeply. How desperate it was to see his charges take off down paths as if they were allotted: Draco to the Dark path; Potter to be an Auror. Each following the path to continued war, and (it seemed to him, anyway) no-one was really trying to stop it. No matter how many times Snape asked, Dumbledore would not tell him why direct action could not be taken against the Dark Lord. Snape would rather murder him than Dumbledore! Merlin knew: Snape would sleep better at night if that were the plan! But still, Snape was kept in the dark.

He downed his drink in one, just as Lupin softly called his name.

He exhaled to see Lupin's face, his soft knowing smile and blue eyes, in the mirror, and smiled ruefully when Lupin asked him why the large dram had been necessary.

Of course, Snape could tell Lupin, but telling him it was the night of Slughorn's Christmas party provoked appropriate noises of sympathy.

Snape easily deflected any deeper questions by telling Lupin how Slughorn had managed to acquire Professor Merrythought's old office which hadn't been used since his retirement. Having taught at Hogwarts, Lupin knew that Dumbledore had always refused to allocate it because it was so very large in case it caused dissension amongst the ranks. They joked about what favours Slughorn must have done to make Dumbledore overturn his decades-held ruling.

Snape told Lupin that Sanguini had been at the party with his biographer, no less! All the vampires had left the Dark Lord's service after the débâcle that had resulted in the death of Infamia at his own hands and cursed slaughter of Bodmin. Of course, the Dark Lord had no means of compelling the vampires' service. Once could not torture the undead. As delighted as Snape and Lupin had been at the unexpected outcome, to all intents and purposes, Sanguini knew Snape as a Death Eater, so Snape described his rather theatrical antics of sneering down his nose at Sanguini as a traitor. But funnier had been the biographer's attempts to steer the vampire away from the nubile young ladies at the event. Lupin had ended up laughing, and Snape was always glad to see him laugh. It lightened his own mind.

"And did you know, Potter is in the Slug Club?" asked Snape.

"Harry? Really? I thought you said he was atrocious at Potions," laughed Lupin.

"He is," said Snape, one eyebrow raised. "And yet Slughorn says he exceptionally talented."

"Dare I say that perhaps you rather inhibited him?" chuckled Lupin. Snape raised his eyes at Lupin's dig. "Well, his mother was naturally gifted, wasn't she? You remember Lily, don't you, Severus?"

The question blew Snape's mind so completely that Lupin didn't remember, he quite forgot to ask him to question Potter at Christmas. He could only whisper a 'yes', before Lupin changed the subject.

oooOOOooo

The Dark Mark had burned after breakfast on Christmas morning. How odd, Snape thought angrily, that Dumbledore was content for Snape to miss lunch with the pupils for the greater good, but not for Snape and Lupin's personal good.

In point of fact, the Dark Lord had, for once, not intended to summon Snape on Christmas Day. He was most anxious that Snape be seen as an attentive and diligent Head of House, for the Dark Lord wanted to ensure that none would brook Snape's appointment to the Headmastership when the time came.

Despite these assurances, Snape had been summoned. He Disapparated to the perimeter of the wards of Malfoy Manor. The Dark Lord had decided he felt confident enough to leave the run-down manor house and take up residence there instead, it having been raided numerous times. The Dark Lord was sure the Aurors had had their fill of this place for now.

Snape strode to the great hall of the Manor. No Christmas decorations this year. The Malfoy Christmas decorations had always been a great point of pride for Narcissa: perfect (and of course pompous) and in excellent taste (and therefore bland). The hall was cold and bleak, even though a great fire raged in the manorial fireplace.

"Ah Severus!" the Dark Lord said, softly.

Narcissa stood before him, her bearing regal, aside from her downcast eyes.

"I needed to hear … from the horse's mouth, as it were … if young master Draco is still at school and indeed why this is the case?" The 's' of the word lingered as Nagini slithered along the wall, seeming to drag everyone's gaze with her.

"I didn't want to interrupt your affairs, my Lord, with having my son home for the holiday break," Narcissa ventured.

Snape saw how a nerve twitched in her temple, frightened for the blow that could befall her at any moment.

"Is he there, Severus? At school? Eating, drinking and … making merry?" sneered the Dark Lord.

"He does not make merry, my Lord. He undoubtedly has plans and works on them industriously …"

"… He doesn't tell you, though, does he, Snape!" Bellatrix interrupted, from the corner of the room where she glowered on the proceedings. "I've made sure you won't mess up what my nephew needs to do!"

"Bella!" the Dark Lord spat. The dark-haired witch cringed back. "It would be well for Draco to succeed … for his own sake, and his family's." His crimson gaze pinned her and she shrank before him. "And you are included in that description."

The Dark Lord looked dispassionately between the two sisters and then sinuously turned towards Bellatrix.

"But do not block Severus if his assistance attains my goal. The despatch of the old fool is what I desire. Whoever accomplishes it for me shall have glory beyond description."

The Dark Lord glided away, leaving Bellatrix livid.

Narcissa's blue eyes raised from the floor as the Dark Lord left her, and they beseeched Snape wordlessly once more.

"It is Draco's task, Snape! Leave him be!" Bellatrix hissed as she stormed out of the room.

oooOOOooo

It was several hours before the Dark Lord released Snape. He knew he was supposed to go back to Hogwarts, but he was unscathed. He thought it was, perhaps, the first Christmas before the Dark Lord where he had not been punished: a gift in itself under other circumstances. But the ongoing punishment of his status as the full-moon brewer and provider of blood, and ultimately the murderer of Albus Dumbledore gave the lie to such a specious "gift".

He wanted to be waiting for Lupin when he returned on Boxing Day morning. That was all he wanted.

Snape walked into the flat, expecting it to be dark and cold, but in the corner was a Christmas tree, trimmed and lit, with presents under it, and a fire crackled in the grate. His heart leapt in his chest.

"Remus?" he called, half-knowing he would be disappointed.

There was no answer. He exhaled heavily and hung his travelling cloak up. As he turned, he heard the soft pop of Tippy's Apparition and turned to find her there.

"Professor Snape!" she said, happily, clasping her bony hands together. "It is so good to have one of Tippy's masters home on Christmas night."

Snape smiled faintly, understanding now how the flat was made ready by a hopeful house-elf. He half listened to her witter as he stood before the tree, immaculately decorated, just like last year. He turned a red and gold glass bauble in his fingers and wondered how house-elves learnt to trim Christmas trees. It was such an odd thought, and yet, it hit him with some force.

Tippy's voice came back into his consciousness as she repeated, "Would Professor Snape like a late supper?"

He couldn't deny it: his stomach felt as if it was gnawing his spine. However, if Tippy had not been there, he would not have eaten.

"What I would really like, Tippy, is a turkey salad sandwich with fresh bread. Is that possible?"

"But of course it is possible, Professor Snape!" squealed Tippy with delight, never normally being able to cater to what the Professor wanted. She scampered into the kitchen and Snape followed.

He dragged a stool up to the counter and watched as she darted around the kitchen, into larder cupboards and the magical cold store for provisions he was unaware they had. A small smile began as he watched her build his sandwich using seeded wholemeal bread, his very favourite, no butter, carving slices of turkey (from the kitchens of Hogwarts, no doubt), layering them on, then a thin layer of cranberry sauce, followed by fresh lettuce leaves and thinly sliced sage and onion stuffing. He gave a soft laugh at the last knowing Tippy was trying to put as much of Christmas lunch into his sandwich.

"Will you eat with me Tippy?" Snape said, without thinking. He watched her eyes widen and a film of tears appear and realised his error and cursed himself. "Eat with me for company," he ordered quickly. It was enough of an order to divert a show of tears of gratitude, and instead she looked around herself, as if dazed by the idea.

"I have had no proper company all day, Tippy, and Master Lupin doesn't come home until tomorrow morning. Take your supper with me and tell me about ..." he thought quickly "... the kitchens at Hogwarts. Tell me about your work there."

He suddenly wondered why he had asked her that, and then realised he really had no idea how the castle functioned at house-elf level. Dumbledore probably did. He had probably made it his job to find out. They both knew that the Dark Lord would install Snape as headmaster next year. Snape supposed this would be a good way to learn.

The elf was wittering away, "such a honour to take food with one's master, such an honour Tippy has never heard of, and on Christmas Day, it is a present for Tippy, that's what it is ..." as she gathered together all manner of small fruits, fresh and dried, and nuts and some cider vinegar and honey as a drink. Snape watched, fascinated by her choices. Snape suddenly recalled Tippy's present. He was fearful of giving it to her without Lupin there to defuse her excess gratitude, but really, this was the time. He Summoned it to himself and handed it to her.

Her eyes widened enormously and her ears flattened.

"Do not cry, Tippy," Snape ordered. "It is for you from Master Lupin and me and now would be the perfect time to open it."

He could see her struggling to compose herself in accordance with his order as she picked open the silver paper tied with a sky-blue ribbon that Snape suspected Lupin used for Tippy to take for a bow. She unpicked the bow carefully and smoothed it out, Vanishing it to her nest and then unwrapped the shimmering paper and opened the box.

She gasped as she pulled out piece by piece the children feeding set: a small china plate and bowl with small silver knife, fork and spoon.

"For Tippy's very own?" she asked breathily.

"Tippy's very own. To eat your supper from," confirmed Snape, watching as she ran her fingers along the rims of the plate and bowl and then placed each item down carefully and placed her fruit and nuts on the plate and sat on a stool on the other side of the kitchen counter, casting Snape furtive glances every now and then as she picked at her meal.

She told him of the kitchen. Of the room as big as the Great Hall; below it, in fact. Tiled from floor to ceiling, with enormous black ranges upon which the house-elves cooked. Huge pots and pans were stored from racks high above them, suspended from the ceiling, Summoned into use by elf magic. On the other side of the kitchen were enormous china sinks for scrubbing vegetables and washing up dirty crockery, glassware and cutlery. In the centre were the large oak tables and chopping blocks where the food was prepared. To the sides were the pantry and cold stores, not as big as one might think for, provided the house-elves had at least some of the food stuff they needed, they could Conjure as much as would be required for the castle's inhabitants' needs.

The First Exemption to Gamp's Law, Snape thought, with a smile, in action, in this castle. He had always wondered just how so much food was within the bursury of the school. He knew a great many legacies and trusts supported by the school, but even so. Its consumption was prodigious.

She told him how a team of elves would be assigned to each dish for a feast such as the Welcoming Feast or Halloween. For small gatherings, such as Christmas lunch, the house-elves had to draw lots to have the honour to prepare the food. It was an unhappy time for those house-elves who were unlucky enough not to be successful.

The Welcoming Feast was the house-elves' high holiday – the chance to shine in duty to their masters! Not only did the food have to be sumptuous enough for the children to squeal with pleasure, the castle had to be spotless, and the house-keeping elves deployed with military precision to fetch the luggage, and upon Sorting, sort the luggage and unpack and arrange the dormitories, feed the familiars and ensure all the owls were seen safely to the Owlery. If the Welcoming Feast came off well, the house-elves felt assured of a successful year. After all, they had all been brought up on the terrible tale of The-Year-When-The-Food-Was-Not-Ready-On-Time and the Grand Master Slytherin himself had freed the entire kitchen staff of Hogwarts!

As Tippy told the tale, her eyes were huge in fear of a horror story passed from generation to generation. Snape found his own eyes widen with hers and then snapped himself out of it.

"At least, nothing like that will happen to you now, unless you wish it," said Snape, licking the tips of his fingers as he finished the very fine sandwich indeed and scarcely noticed that he had been presented with a bowl of piping hot plum pudding and custard.

She gasped loudly and her eyes widened comically again as she shooed him to eat his pudding.

"Kind Professor Snape, sir, would not have known of the Scandal of Gryffindor Tower only two years ago when the housekeeping elves stopped working in there in case they were trapped into freedom by Mistress Menace's knitted clothes. The rogue Dobby," she wrinkled her nose with distaste, "had to clean the whole Tower himself." Tippy nodded with emphatic outrage.

Once Tippy had told him who Mistress Menace was, it was everything he could do to suppress a snort of laughter. Granger. So clever – and yet so closed-minded in her Muggle-born ways. He sighed.

Time had flown. He had eaten far more than he intended, felt full and contented and, with a cup of tea in hand, left the little elf with far more knowledge of how the castle worked than he had ever realised. He watched her wash her little china plate with pride and stow in safely in its box and secret it in her nest and then sat in the armchair by the fire and read until he was too tired to stay awake one moment longer.

He retired for the night to his own bed – their own bed. It wasn't the worst Christmas he'd ever had, nor the best, but for a man whose beloved was not with him, the little elf had helped. She really had.

He thought of their very first Christmas – how he had been assaulted by the fractured wolf the night before, but how it had brought Snape to an understanding of his fundamental and growing affection and attraction to Lupin, the man; the next year had been that dratted Yule Ball and the dance to Glenn Miller and – oh! – the chocolate spread. Snape stretched out luxuriously in the bed, as his stomach clenched at the memory. And the Agathonian circlets that Lupin had found to bond with him. The day he knew Lupin truly loved him beyond any and all others. Such a Christmas.

And then … and then, last year: their first Christmas as a bonded couple. The return of the Dark Lord and the return of torture on Christmas Day. But Lupin had been there, had argued with Dumbledore on his behalf, and suddenly, it had felt worthwhile. Unthinking, Snape traced the bonding circlet with one finger, feeling it nestled under the skin, its curlicues spreading out and he smiled faintly as he drifted off to sleep.

It was as sound a sleep as he had slept these many months, and before he knew it, he felt his own hand being lifted gently and held by the hand of his husband. There was no doubt it was Lupin. He knew the touch of his skin, and the smell of him. He slowly awoke, wondering why Lupin hadn't got into bed with him.

Something was wrong, and he awoke fully and suddenly to the sound of a softly incanted revealing spell.

He saw Lupin sitting on the side of the bed casting over his hand and wrist and Snape was sudden breathless as the Unbreakable Vow's bonds glowed golden under the revealing charm.

Snape's dark eyes glittered with apprehension to see the casting made visible and an expression of such resigned sadness on Lupin's face as he placed his wand down and covered Snape's hand gently in his own.

"Harry told me," said Lupin, brushing Snape's sleep-messed hair from Snape's face. "He overheard you talking to Draco." Lupin's voice hitched as he spoke and Snape felt awash with guilt. He knew what Potter had heard. After all, he'd only managed to pin Draco down once so far this term.

Under any other circumstances, Snape would have snapped about Potter eavesdropping, probably under that blasted invisibility cloak, but the look of sadness of Lupin's face chased everything else away. Snape sat up and rested his forehead against Lupin's.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Such a simple question, but one incapable of answer.

"I'm sorry, Remus. I could not," he whispered. "I am not able."

"Is it the same thing? The Vow and the Charm?"

Snape nodded slowly. Then he gasped as he felt Lupin's arms wrap around him and pull him into Lupin's body.

"I wish I could kill him myself and free you, my own dear Severus."

Snape moaned at Lupin's mistaken assumption that both Fidelius and Unbreakable Vow were for the Dark Lord. If he did but know, what would he think? Snape cursed his own obedience to Dumbledore. He should have just told Lupin when it was first asked of him.

"Is there nothing you can tell me?" Lupin asked quietly.

"Beloved, no, I am so sorry. So sorry." Snape's voice broke.

"No," said Lupin firmly. "You have no need." And his embrace tightened around him and Snape wrapped his own arms around Lupin, his lips meeting Lupin's in a lingering, soft and heart-felt kiss to begin their own Christmas.

.
- 83
- 84
- 85
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

You Will Not Kiss Me