Monsters

Late September 1978

‘You were right.’

Severus eyes Lupin suspiciously. After Sirius’ “prank” in 5th year, Lupin at least had stopped joining in with his friends attacks, in fact he spent a lot less time around that gang these days. But that didn’t mean Severus trusted him at all. Severus held Lupin’s secret in the palm of his hand, and like the delicate wings of a fairy he could crush it at any moment. It was in Lupin’s best interests to try and get Severus on side. And try he had, on numerous occasions. Severus did not believe, nor accept a single one of the Gryffindor’s apologies, and gradually Lupin had given up, or so he had thought.

The trembling young man before him however does not look like he is about to offer another apology. His skin is pale, and covered in a film of sweat, his eyes red rimmed, with dark circles which look almost like bruises, and he is wearing a haunted expression.

Last night had been the full moon. Severus kept track of it these days, and made sure not to leave the sanctuary of the Slytherin dorms after sunset on those nights, even skipping dinners, claiming to his housemates that he was working on an essay or some such.

But there is something about the young man’s demeanour that is beyond the usual post transformation illness. And Severus would know, he has been observing the were-boy very carefully for two years now. His curiosity, and his sense of self preservation went hand in hand with his cunning. Information was key to all three of these pursuits, so watching Lupin around the time of the full moon had become second nature.

‘You were right.’ Lupin’s voice trembles. ‘I am a monster.’
Severus follow’s the young man’s gaze down to his shaking hands, noticing a hint of red among what he had assumed was simply caked dirt on his fingers and under his nails.

It is quiet in this part of the castle this early in the morning; a second floor passage leading only to the Charms classroom, and looking out over the side entrance to the castle. Severus would often wake early the morning after a full moon and sit there, watching Lupin return from the shack. It reassured him to see that the wolf had turned back into a man, even though he knew a werewolf could never retain it’s form after the moon had set, the thought of a bloodthirsty beast wandering the castle plagued his dreams. This morning however he had not seen Lupin come in. He must have entered the castle a different way.

Despite the quiet Severus glances up and down the hall, then yanks Lupin by the elbow into the empty classroom.
‘Everything you said was true.’ Lupin mutters to the floor, not seeming to be at all worried about being alone with Severus, despite his regular threats – he felt it was prudent to make sure the werewolf knew he was not defenceless. ‘I should have been expelled, or… or…’ His entire body is shaking now, and Severus is disturbed to see that he is crying. He has no idea how to react to this situation. He is certainly not going to comfort someone who has been party to making his school experience somewhat of a living hell.

Then there is the creeping realisation of what Lupin is saying. Severus had pleaded with the Headmaster, said it was only a matter of time before Lupin killed someone. And that is definitely blood on his hands.

~

Some part of Remus is aware that logically Snape is the last person he should be telling, not the first. Perhaps it is because he wants to be punished, wants to be yelled at, hexed, cursed, handed over to the Aurors and thrown into Azkaban. Put to death. It’s what he deserves.

He does not remember the kill of course. It had not been his own mind in control, but Moony’s. He’d never really liked that nickname, but it seems even more sickeningly childish now. Moony sounds like a cute innocent little pup, not a relentless, bloodthirsty killer. All Remus remembers is waking up, cold and naked with a bitter metallic taste in his mouth; the dawning realisation that it was blood – and more – then looking up from his nest among the brambles to see the remains of a body a few feet away. Ravaged, bloody, barely recognisable as human. He had immediately vomited, crawling away from the stuff (he didn’t want to think about what it was) coming out of his mouth, barely registering the thorns scraping at his flesh.

Somehow he had crawled and stumbled his way back to the shack and retrieved his clothes, pulling them on in a daze before staggering to one of the secret passages into the castle. He could hardly bear the thought of what he has done, let alone the look on anyone else’s face when they finally realise what he really is, what “Moony” is truly capable of; and that is why he is really here. Snape would not look at him any differently, because he already knew what Remus was.

Remus knew that Snape watched his return from the shack after every full moon. Though exhausted and in pain, his senses were still heightened, and he could sense when he was being watched. He never told the others of course. He had barely spoken to any of them for months after the incident, and their friendship had never got back to normal. Last night was the first time he had agreed to let them come with him, after nearly two years of nagging. He had thought he was beginning to forgive Sirius, but apparently part of him – or perhaps the wolf itself – hadn’t. Remus has a fleeting memory of feeling of angry, perhaps having fought, presumably at some point they must have become separated, and… He cannot think about that, and almost retches again.

‘Where?’ Severus demands.
‘The edge of the forest somewhere.’ He responds blankly. ‘Near the village I think.’
So Snape was going to hold his temper and not immediately carry out one of his threats of physical violence. Instead he was gathering evidence to give to Dumbledore, or the Aurors. Remus does not have the will to try and hide anything, to save himself.
‘Who was it?’ Snape scowls.
‘I… I don’t know.’ Remus shudders, only then suddenly realising it could have been someone he knows. There shouldn’t have been any students out at that time, except his friends of course… oh Merlin… He vaguely recalls the shreds of a khaki wax jacket. ‘A poacher maybe.’ He mutters, praying to whatever God will listen that is the case, whilst also berating himself for wishing death on anyone. Friend, stranger, it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things did it? He was a murderer.

‘Lupin for fucks sake, get up!’ Snape snarls, and Remus realises that his legs had collapsed underneath him. He allows Snape to drag him back to his feet, leaning against the stone wall for support and fighting the urge to vomit again. He loses. Snape is swearing and muttering, but the small splatter of yellow and brown bile is vanished, and Remus finds himself dragged back into the hallway.

Strangely they don’t seem to be heading towards the Headmaster’s office, rather the opposite direction – the way he had come in in fact. Snape stops suddenly, and shoves him onto a stone bench.
‘Stay here.’ He snaps, then strides over and steps in front of a terrified looking young Hufflepuff, who is carrying a stack of books topped with a pot plant of some kind. The halls are still almost deserted, and the young student must be one of the first out and about.

‘Go and tell Madam Pomfrey that Remus Lupin is recovering in his dorm.’ He instructs the child. ‘Then go to Professor Slughorn and inform him that Severus Snape will be conducting self directed study today. You will not tell anyone you saw us together, and then you will forget all about it.’ Snape bites out. The Hufflepuff simply nods, then hurries away.

Remus cannot muster enough lucid thought to wonder what Snape is up to or where he is taking him, nor whether that student had followed his instructions out of fear, or if Snape had perhaps imperiod the poor child. He simply watches the interaction through fuzzy eyes, before allowing Snape to continue frog marching him out of the castle.

‘Which way?’ Snape shakes his shoulder, and Remus realises they have arrived at the edge of the forest. Remus jerks his head and stumbles backwards, but Snape is still holding his arm in a vice like grip. He is probably causing bruises, but that is nothing to the scars which criss cross Remus’ flesh, nor the sick feeling in his guts. ‘Dammit Lupin! Which way?’ Snape growls.
Remus steps forward again on numb legs, barely able to feel the movement of his own body. He really really doesn’t want to go back there, to see that again, but for some reason he cannot think to do anything other than follow Snape’s instructions.

~~

‘Why are you doing this?’ Lupin asks.

After half an hour of searching they had eventually found the mangled remains of the human savagely killed by the werewolf last night. Most of the face was gone, the guts spilled out onto the bed of dry leaves lining the forest floor, one arm bitten clean off, and the hand lying several metres away, it’s flesh edged with teeth marks. A few other pools and splatters of half digested remains lead in a trail away from the kill, where Lupin’s human stomach had obviously rejected the wolf’s meal.

Lupin had collapsed against a tree, shuddering and retching, while Severus scooped the body parts together and banished the vomit, only managing not to puke himself by concentrating on the magical theory that explained why cooked – and apparently half digested flesh – could be banished and not bodies. Then he had started digging the grave.

‘Come and help me with this.’ He growls at a very faint looking Lupin.
‘Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?’ Lupin asks, though at least he seems to have pulled himself together enough to approach the place where Severus is using a charm to dig out the earth.

Why is he doing this? He could tell himself that helping someone to cover up a murder was the ultimate in control. He had Lupin by the balls now. Not only would Lupin owe him more than he could ever hope to repay – or at least until Severus needed the favour repaying – but he now held an even bigger secret than Lupin’s Lycanthropy. He could demand anything, and Lupin would have to go along with it – or be exposed as a murderer. But there is a niggling voice in the back of his head trying to suggest that he has some sort of empathy with the Gryffindor. Only one month ago Severus had been initiated into Voldemort’s ranks. He had been brought along by Black’s brother Regulus, which felt ironic, or pertinent somehow. And at the time Severus had felt honoured, had been glad to kneel before the great Dark Lord. He was honoured still, of course. But there was part of the initiation he had not been prepared for. A part that involved murder. Which was how he now knew how to get rid of a dead body.

He doesn’t answer Lupin’s question, focusing only on digging a grave deep enough that it will not be dug up by other animals, and ensuring that every trace of blood, bone, and flesh is removed from the surrounding undergrowth. Before lowering the body into the hole he crouches down and searches the tatters of the man’s clothes.

Remus watches in horror as Snape clinically and coldly searches what is left of the man’s pockets, eventually pulling out a parchment, a receipt for something and a small metal object which looks like a key. Then he steps back and nods to Remus. Oh fuck, he meant for Remus to “do the honours” as it were. Well, it was his job really wasn’t it? He couldn’t expect Snape to do all the dirty work. Which brings him back to his unanswered question – why is Snape doing this? Followed by another – why is Remus doing it? Why is he covering up his crime, and not handing himself in? He deserved to be punished – to be put to death even – it was part of what had sent him to Snape in the first place. Snape would see that the monster was punished for his crimes. But instead Snape was helping him to cover it up.

It occurs to Remus then that perhaps this is a dream, though whether it is supposed to be a dream or a nightmare he is not quite sure.

The deed done, and the freshly dug earth covered with sticks and leaves, he automatically follows Snape away from the scene of the crime. His crime. They walk along the edge of the forest, pausing in a clearing where there are a group of very strange looking black horses, skeletally thin, with almost velvety skin, and leathery wings. Remus realises that these are Thestrals. He has never been able to see them before, but Snape seems quite familiar with the animals, as several come trotting over to him, and the Slytherin strokes the bony forelock of a large one who nuzzles him gently.

Remus has never seen this side of Snape before, and blinks in surprise at the sight, realising that there is a lot he doesn’t know about the other young man. His touch is delicate, caring, as he pets the strange beast, and his face more relaxed, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Then Snape seems to suddenly realise Remus is looking and the spell is broken. He turns away from the beasts, leading the way through the trees to a sort of small beach at the edge of the Black Lake.

‘Take off your clothes.’ Snape instructs, shrugging off his own robe.
Remus gawps at him as Snape begins to unbutton his shirt.
‘Nothing you haven’t seen before Lupin.’ The Slytherin snarls so sharply there can be no doubt as to what he is referring – the other incident, in which James had hung Snape upside down, threatening to remove his pants in front of a jeering crowd. Remus had stopped his friend at the last second, earning him a similar thanks from Snape to that which Lily had received for her interference. Remus completely understood why Evans had not forgiven her Slytherin friend after what he had called her, but he also understood that Snape must have felt cornered, and vulnerable, hence his lashing out defensively in an attempt to hide his shame.

‘We have to remove all traces of blood.’ Snape bites out, stripping off his trousers, and indicating for Remus to do the same.
Again Remus does as he’s told. Stripping down to this underwear, he watches shivering on the shore as Snape drops their clothes in the lake, then follows him into the freezing water. He tries not to stare as Snape dunks his head under the water, coming up with slick shining hair, and Remus gets the sense again that he is looking at a completely different person.

‘Stop gawping Lupin, I know you lot think I don’t know how to wash…’
‘I don’t think that!’ Remus hurries to say. James and Sirius had always had a joke about how greasy Snape was, which Peter would always giggle madly at, but Remus had never quite understood it. Ok, so Snape had been a bit untidy in the first couple of years at Hogwarts, and his hair was a bit straggly, but he never smelled that bad. And besides, Remus could hardly judge someone else for being a little scruffy. It hurt sometimes when James or Sirius would joke about Snape’s second hand robes, or his seeming lack of personal hygiene. Often after a transformation Remus was too tired to wash, or look after himself properly. ‘Oh, not you Moony!’ They would say if Remus’ shame was ever obvious.

Snape disappears under the water again, and when he comes up hands Remus a long frond of some sort of underwater plant.
‘Soap weed.’ He says, splitting the thick leaf down the middle and scooping out some clear slime from within. Snape rubs it between his hands, causing the slime to lather up, then applies it to his hair and body, using the rough outer part of the leaves to scrub his skin. Remus copies his actions, thoroughly washing his body and hair, then rinsing in the freezing cold lake water.

Lupin seems to eventually be coming out of his state of shock, and is focusing on cleaning himself instead of staring dumbly at Severus. His wavy hair is less of a mess when wet, and it drips over his shoulders, which are muscular, but marred with scars, including a large knot of twisted scar tissue which must be where the werewolf Greyback had bitten him. Severus is only looking because Lupin had been staring at him – seen his nakedness twice now. It was only fair.

To his credit Lupin has not complained about following Severus’ instructions, nor bathing in the lake, and hasn’t made any comments about using soap weed to wash with. His pampered Gryffindor friends would most certainly have made a fuss, and probably some disparaging comments about his methods of personal hygiene. Though perhaps Lupin simply hadn’t twigged that this was his regular source of soap. Since getting in with people like Avery, and Regulus, as well as being able to make a bit of cash selling potions and essays to the other students, Severus was seldom short of more expensive products, but foraging what he needed would always be his fall back.

Lupin soon gets the hang of using the leaves to scrub his scarred skin, seeming unfazed about it all, and figures out on his own how to use the tips of the leaves to clean under his fingernails. The werewolf was definitely the least epicurean of his group, perhaps he was used to making do too.

Five minutes later they are sitting shivering on the shore with a small fire going, and their clothes hanging on some nearby low branches. Neither one feels comfortable enough to remove their boxers, preferring to put up with the discomfort of wet underwear than the embarrassment of the other lad seeing their nether regions. They sit in silence, but Severus can feel the glances Lupin keeps flicking at him.

Sitting here with nothing to do but wait for their clothes to dry Remus cannot help but keep looking at his companion and wondering. Snape’ skin is not as light as he had always thought, not that he’d spent a lot of time thinking about it. The time James had exposed The Slytherin in front of everyone, Remus had not really been paying attention – in fact he had been trying not to look, whilst also trying to think of a way to get James to stop. Snape’s face and hands were the only two parts of him that were normally exposed, and he often kept those well covered. He isn’t dark exactly, one would still describe him as sort of pale, just not quite white as such, and Remus can’t help wondering about his heritage. The other thing Remus notices is that Snape has a fair number of scars he had not noticed before, perhaps because they were mainly on his back and arms.

They are not as deep or numerous as Remus’, but neither are they nothing. The ones on his back are long and narrow, and Remus cannot imagine what they had been made by, other than that they are too clean to be anything other than deliberate. His arms are more unevenly marked with both thin lines, round blemishes, and bruises in various stages of healing. His left arm is bandaged below the elbow, and something about that niggles in the back of Remus’ mind.

‘So. What do you want.’ Lupin asks hollowly after a long silence.
Severus flick his gaze up, away from the flames, and onto Lupin’s hazel eyes.
‘Nothing. Yet.’ He states. So Lupin wasn’t a complete imbecile after all. He had worked out that this was not a freebie. That something would be expected in return for Severus’ help.
‘Right.’ Lupin looks back down at his hands, which are clasped in front of him.

The sun has risen high enough that it dances across the lake, and touches their bare skin with it’s warmth through the branches of the trees. That in combination with the small fire stops them from shivering. Their clothes will soon be dry, but Lupin is looking pretty sickly. Not surprising really, he usually spends the day after the full moon in a nice cosy hospital bed attended by Madam Pomfrey, and no doubt brought meals by the house elves.

Severus stands and steps over to his cloak which is hanging from a nearby branch. He fishes in the pocket, pulling out a pain potion which he chucks in Lupin’s direction. Lupin starts, almost missing the catch – but he doesn’t. Quick reactions. Severus had noticed Lupin seemed to have some enhanced abilities which increased and decreased with the waxing and waning of the moon. He would have liked the chance to study it in more detail. He supposes he could now, if he wanted. He could ask anything of Lupin now, and Lupin could not refuse.

‘Thanks.’ Remus says, stunned that Snape would not only notice his pain, but give him something to relieve it unprompted. He swallows the potion down, not really considering that it could have been poison. Why do all this if he was only going to poison him? Snape certainly had the ability to be malicious, but Remus had never noticed him do something without reason.

‘Can I ask you something?’ He says.
Snape shrugs, sitting back by the fire.
‘How did you know how to… do all that?’ Remus asks hesitantly. He doesn’t really expect an answer. Snape hasn’t really answered his other questions. Remus had worked out for himself in the end that Snape had helped him in order to hold it over him, or so that Remus would owe him a very very big favour in the future, and Snape had not denied it, though he hadn’t given Remus any indication of how or when he might call that favour in.

Snape puts his hand over his left forearm and rubs the bandage, and Remus begins to get a sickening feeling again, though this one is of an entirely different nature.

Severus isn’t entirely sure why it is he starts speaking. Perhaps it is because this is the real reason he had helped Lupin. So that he could tell someone the thing he had not been able to tell anyone else, someone who would not be able to judge him, or do anything about it. He undoes the safety pin holding the bandage in place and slowly unwraps it to reveal the tattoo marring his pale ochre skin.
‘It happened over the summer.’ He says. Lupin doesn’t gasp, or jump away, or even pull his wand, so Severus continues.

‘They made it sound glamorous.’ He says, not really knowing why he feels the need to justify himself to the werewolf. ‘I thought I would finally have my talents recognised. He is impressive you know. Charming.’ Severus smiles wryly. He doesn’t need to specify who he is talking about. The Dark Lord’s powers of persuasion were well known. ‘I don’t mind following someone if they are worthy, powerful, it’s not like I have a load of prospects you know.’

Remus wonders at that. Snape had always seemed so ambitious, always concentrated in class, handed in his assignments on time, and was obviously very clever. He was a Slytherin, in with some of the students who came from the most influential wizarding families. Why would he think he had no prospects? It’s not like he was a werewolf for Merlin’s sake. But Snape continues before Remus has much time to think about it.

‘I guess I knew that something would be needed – that I’d have to do something to prove myself. I just…’ Severus stares into the fire. He didn’t like to admit to being naive. He hadn’t been naive in the sense of being innocent since the first time he had seen his father wallop his mother hard enough to knock her to the floor and leave a purple bruise on her face that stayed there for two weeks. But he’d been naive enough to think that coming to Hogwarts would be different – that he would be different – no longer the dirty kid from the wrong side of the river. Instead he was the poor kid from the wrong side of the blood line. He had been naive enough to think that if he just caught the self named Marauders in the act that the teachers would finally punish them properly. And he had been naive enough to think that he could join the Dark Lord without actually getting his hands dirty.

‘The initiates were tested. We had to earn our mark.’ Severus’ fingers rake over the skull and snake on his arm. ‘Those who refused could not be allowed to leave.’ No need to elaborate what that meant. ‘One muggle each. We were given a choice; torture or murder.’ The words come out in a strained rasp as Severus relives the memory of that night. The bonfires burning, the assembled Death Eaters in their white masks and black cloaks, the Dark Lord; beautiful, menacing, his presence filling what felt like the entire world. Severus had watched, barely able to hide his horror, as those before him had cast the cruciatis curse on their victims, bodies writhing in unimaginable pain, until eventually they were tossed to the masked figures surrounding the circle of initiates to finish them off.

‘I chose murder.’ Severus almost whispers. He had tried to use Avada Kedavra, wanting to get it over with, but his intention had not been strong enough. In the end he had cast his Sectumsempra as the Dark Lord twitched with impatience at his failure. He had never used his spell to kill before. Severus had invented it with the intention of crippling his enemy severely enough to give him time to get away; causing someone to bleed indefinitely was quite effective in that capacity. In this instance he had only hoped it would be as quick and painless a death as possible.

The blood from the man’s carotid artery where Severus had aimed his spell had spurted out several feet, causing a ripple of delight, and finally the Dark Lord had been pleased with him. It had not felt as he had hoped. He had accepted his Dark Mark in a daze after that, and one of the older Death Eaters had shown them how to bury the bodies and clean themselves up.

Remus stares at Snape. If he had heard second hand that Snape had joined the Death Eaters and committed murder he probably would have thought and felt entirely differently. But the young man sitting beside him is not the arrogant pureblood Slytherin boasting of his hatred for muggles, and how easy it was to kill them, as Remus might have thought or as his friends would no doubt assume. Even if it were not for Snape’s body language – the slump of his shoulders, his hair hanging in a wet curtain over his face, almost covering eyes filled with a haunting sadness – Remus could smell the emotion on him. Sadness. Guilt. Self hatred. All emotions Remus recognised all too well.

Snape had had a choice of course. He could have chosen not to hang about with future Death Eaters, not to accept the invitation to meet the Dark Lord, and not to kill that innocent muggle. But was Remus himself any better? He had had choices too. Not to hang out with those who bullied other students, not to agree to frolicking around the forest in his werewolf form, not to be persuaded to do so again after at least one of his animagus friends had proven himself at best irresponsible, at worst psychotic.

They had both had choices, both chosen self interest and self preservation, both committed murder. That Remus had done so in the werewolf’s bloodthirsty and uncontrollable rage did not make him feel any better about himself. He had known the risks. Was being irresponsible any better an excuse than being ambitious?

‘So, you were right about me too.’ Snape utters, his eyes gazing out over the lake, just as black, emulating it’s hidden depths. ‘We are both monsters.’

‘No.’ Remus says after a moment. ‘You are not.’

~

Their clothes are dry now, so they dress and walk back up to the castle. When they are within sight of the windows Snape parts ways without a word, going to the front door, while Remus continues over the wooden bridge and enters through the side door.

Remus does not tell his friends what he had done. Severus apparently keeps his mouth shut too. They do not speak, but when they pass each other in the halls their eyes meet and they exchange a small nod, too slight for anyone else to notice. But they know. They are two of a kind.