Meeting Again PT. 1
Saturday, February 9th, 2002
Remus's POV
Remus didn’t know what had possessed him to go to the old, shabby, house located in Spinner’s End, Cokeworth, not that any house there was new or respectable, but entering through the unlocked door made him regret both coming and not coming sooner.
It was horrific.
The lights were all blown, or at least off, the windows cracked, the cupboards bare. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and the house smelt of death, disease, and waste. The only sign of life being a tiny man curled up on the living room couch, chest barely moving as it was pressed into a large, sharp, spring. Despite the cold outside, the temperature being only 30 degrees fahrenheit, with snow blowing in right this second, the body was only covered by an old pair of ripped in the crotch and back of the thighs sweatpants which were meant to be gray but hadn’t been in a long time and a short-sleeve black tee-shirt, not even a blanket in addition.
This was far worse than even the tiny cottage Remus lived in prior to the end of the second war, but definitely couldn’t compare to the spacious, two story(plus a basement and attic), four bedroom, four bathroom(not including the bathroom in each bedroom) house bought with inheritance money from various people’s wills, the ministry allotted twenty galleons($100 USD/78.02 pounds) a month, and the money made from selling his books.
Did Severus not have any money from his teaching days? Was he not getting ministry money? Had he not realized he could sell potions?
Or perhaps he didn’t care, was ignoring it all.
But, why?
A guttural scream originating from Severus’s throat echoed through the nearly empty room and Remus was over in seconds, if not less. The two hadn’t even been friends, let alone lovers, for nearly twenty-four years, yet here Remus was, hugging the much too skinny forty-two year old to his chest, in his house.
But, why?
Severus was not clean.
His hair had always been greasy, it was naturally so and no one ever taught him how to change that, if he even had the money for the different soaps, but it was far worse now than it ever had been before, sticking to Remus’s hand like some sort of slime. He was as covered in dust and dirt as the rest of the house, his skin tone indistinguishable beneath the grim, though Remus was sure he was extra pale. And then there were the cuts.
Green and yellow and red, recent and old, new scabs old scabs and ripped off scabs covering his entire body. They were littered between much older burns and scars and unlabeled marks, but it was easy to tell the difference. These were all made by the springs and wires poking through the couch and likely any other furniture in the house.
He just kept screaming and thrashing and hitting, Remus thought about letting him go, but that would just make things worse. Still, it didn’t make it any easier when he felt old pus and dried snot and fresh blood from currently ripping scabs rub against his skin and thick brown winter jacket.
Severus was more important than a jacket; Remus could buy a new one anyway.
They hadn’t shared a bed much as teens being in different school houses and not really having sleepovers during summer, but the few times they did Severus always had a nightmare, and so Remus had learned how to handle them. It was simple really.
- Hold him tight in your arms, against your chest, until he stops thrashing and screaming
- Gently stroke his hair until he settles back in
- Never talk about it again
The first step-and-a-half went well, it took longer than his younger years, but it worked. That was until Remus reached the second half of the second step, when instead of falling back into a deep sleep, Severus came closer to the surface.
His bloodshot black eyes slowly opened behind the thick rheum and unknown gunk painting his eyelashes as if mascara.
This would be…interesting.