Work Text:
Their hatred was the kind with the deepest roots, ones that dug into the earth and gripped the soil with resentful, unforgiving permanence.
It was the kind of hatred they were born into, whether they knew it or not.
But they learned, on the very first day of school, that they were meant to hate one another. Because that was the way of things: Gryffindors hated Slytherins, and Slytherins hated everyone.
And Severus hated those he envied.
So when Remus Lupin beat Severus Snape to answering a question in their first Potions class, and subsequently offered him a hand after he’d been tripped by James Potter on their way out, Severus sneered and told him, “I don’t need your bloody help.”
Lupin frowned, lowered his hand, and left.
Severus glared at him until he was gone, before pushing himself to his feet.
***
By age fourteen, Severus’s capacity to hate had flourished. Lily talked to him less, Potter and his gang had the school wrapped around their fingers, and nobody had seemed to take any notice of the fact that Lupin was hiding something.
But it wasn’t just that he was secretive. There was something else about him, something that made Severus want to choke him just to touch him.
One day, Lupin had been on his way out of the library just as Severus was heading inside, neither noticing the other until they were brushing by each other.
It was barely anything, the lightest skim of two covered shoulders. But that split second of contact burned through Severus’s robe, and then his shirt, and then his skin, until raw heat was breaching his veins and consuming his blood cells, replacing each one with fire.
Severus jerked away, because another second would have charred away what little remained in his mostly hollow chest.
Confusion flickered across Lupin’s brows, but then it burrowed there until the crease in his forehead deepened, and his plain irritation seared as badly as his touch.
So Severus snapped, “Don’t fucking touch me, half-blood.”
Lupin just rolled his eyes, continuing on his way. If his scornful echo of “half-blood” followed Severus into the library, Severus chose not to acknowledge it.
***
One morning, Lupin stood by the lake, levitating a leaf over the water.
Potter, Black, and Pettigrew were nowhere to be seen, though Severus could never really be sure, with that bloody Cloak at their disposal.
And then Lupin set the leaf on fire, watching it crumble to ash, and Severus knew he was alone.
The difference between Remus Lupin the Marauder, and Remus Lupin the Werewolf, was generally how he used magic. The Marauders used their magic for laughter, even if at the expense of others. But there was rarely anything mirthful about Lupin when he was alone.
Severus couldn’t help but goad him.
“All alone, Loony, Loopy Lupin?” he drawled, striding out from behind a tree.
Lupin scowled over his shoulder. “Fuck off, Snivellus.”
“What’s wrong, Lupin? Friends bored of you already?” he asked, strolling closer.
But he quickly realised it was a mistake, because Lupin had his wand on him instantly.
Severus froze, knowing there wasn’t time to reach for his own.
Lupin snorted. “How typical.”
“Piss off,” Severus spat, bracing for whatever hex was inevitably coming his way.
But none did. Instead, Lupin leaned in toward him, studying him almost predatorily.
Of all things, the bloody nutter whispered: “I can smell how afraid you are.”
And then he walked away, leaving Severus to wonder what the hell that meant.
***
They were in detention when it happened.
If Dumbledore, the bloody headcase, really thought that sticking him in detention with Lupin was a good idea, then he was more barmy than Severus already thought. Severus was the one who’d been attacked, what the hell was he in detention for?
“Ridiculous,” Severus muttered, half-heartedly dragging a rag over a trophy. “I’m not the half-breed freak, who—”
“Shut up!” Lupin snapped.
He’d been quiet up until now, throwing Severus guilty looks that only made everything worse. Severus didn’t know what he wanted from Lupin, but it wasn’t that.
Apparently, Lupin had grown tired of that, now preferring a fight. And Severus might have been prepared for one, if he wasn’t also bloody terrified.
“Enough,” Lupin continued in a growl, advancing on Severus until he could snatch his wrist. The trophy in his hand landed on the floor with a harsh clang.
“Let go!” Severus demanded, trying to yank his arm away.
But Lupin was stronger, and his lips stretched into a twisted grin that made Severus swallow hard. His stomach lurched, something warm diving around and then dropping lower, uncomfortably so. Lupin tugged him closer, and—to Severus’s horror—yanked up his shirt, revealing his torso.
And a massive scar.
Severus wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing, but he couldn’t manage a sound. His hand shook as Lupin tugged it closer still, toward the bite-shaped scar under his ribcage.
“Lupin,” Severus finally croaked.
“Shut up,” Lupin growled. “You’re so fucking obsessed with what I am, aren’t you? Have a look, then.”
And in spite of his fear, Severus did. Hand still trembling, he stared at the scar like it might transfer him Lycanthropy via contingence.
But beneath his fear, there was a forbidden curiosity.
Severus took an unsteady breath and traced the bite with the tips of his fingers, following the dark, uneven bumps of marred skin, over and over. He forgot where he was, and why this was wrong, and even why he’d been so terrified. There was little thought, other than a startled: Someone did this to him.
And then, remembering himself, Severus looked up sharply to find Lupin staring at him with something heavy and unfamiliar.
It almost was like he wanted to—like he might—fuck, he was leaning closer, and it was wrong, because they absolutely did not do this.
“Don’t,” Severus choked, panicked. He didn’t specify what not to do, because he couldn’t say the word aloud, however pathetic that might have made him.
He could barely think it—until Lupin listened and moved to pull away, his disappointment and shame rolling off of a short sigh—and then it was the only thing he could think.
Kiss me.
He didn’t say it, instead grabbing Lupin’s arm, wordlessly asking because he couldn’t take it anymore. They’d crossed too many lines, pushed each right to the edge, over and over, and this time Severus went over it with a need that was overwhelmingly frantic.
Lupin hesitated, and for a terrifying moment, Severus wondered if he’d somehow misread him. If the hatred between them had only ever been a product of drawn battle lines, and not the dark, consuming urge that seemed to lurk within every horrible thing they said and did to one another.
And what the hell would Severus do then? Obliviate him? He’d have to do something, before Lupin could run off to tell Potter and Black that Snivellus had the nerve to fucking—
Severus’s back hit the wall just before Lupin’s lips crashed over his own, and he was being kissed not only for the first time, but in a way he had never dared to expect, with furious hands bruising his sides and teeth clashing against his. They kissed like they fought, to expel their anger at the other’s expense. And while Severus hadn’t a clue what he was doing, it didn’t matter, because everything they were doing came out of instinctual need: gripping tighter, daring to taste each other, wanting more, taking more.
And just as Severus started to admit to himself that this felt good, to maybe even allow himself to enjoy someone’s warmth, it ended.
Lupin pulled back like he’d been doused in ice water, eyes wide and dark and animal, and Severus felt that wave again, the rush that pooled in his stomach and sank between his legs. But without another word, and looking as guilty as if he’d killed someone, Lupin turned around and walked briskly away.
Severus waited until he was out of sight to sink to the floor.
***
Remus Lupin was leaving.
Severus leaned smugly against a wall, watching Remus make his way down the corridor with his packed bag.
“A pity,” he said, smiling smugly when Remus tensed at his voice. “I was growing used to working with a zoo animal. Maybe they’ll hire a flobberworm next.”
Remus didn’t have to shove Severus anywhere this time. He just had to take two long strides closer, and Severus stumbled reflexively back against the wall, flushing as he remembered the last time they were in this position.
He reminded himself that he hated this.
He didn’t relish in their proximity.
He didn’t push Remus hoping he might snap and push back.
He didn’t miss the fleeting warmth of Remus’s lips.
But when Remus leaned closer, he might have, for one second, started to hope.
“You’re always going to be more alone than I am,” Remus whispered. “Coward.”
It was cold when he pulled away.
Like always, Remus left in his wake a loathing of Severus’s own making that made the air taste like ash.
***
Hogwarts was a wreck.
Severus wasn’t supposed to be here anymore.
He hadn’t meant to return to the castle so soon, but the image of Remus on a broom, unaware of the Death Eater pointing a wand at his back, played in his mind on an endless loop until he was just there, at Hogwarts, running through the crux of the battle.
He scanned the faces of those he passed, avoiding hexes and shouts of recognition. Severus couldn’t remember the last time he ran like this, if there had ever been a time. Ears ringing and lungs smouldering, he passed through one corridor after another, searching.
There he was.
Remus fought beside his wife, firing off spells with the same deadly power that Severus had long admired and despised.
Severus skidded to a halt, his wand dangling from his hand uselessly at his side. He didn’t know what to do next, or why he’d come at all. Remus, fighting for his loved ones and his beliefs and everything noble, didn’t want or need Severus Snape anywhere near him.
“Severus!”
It wasn’t Remus calling him, but his attention was drawn anyway, his head snapping toward Severus like he’d heard his own name.
Lucius Malfoy hissed from a pathetic crouch behind a wall, “Severus, the Dark Lord needs you!”
Severus didn’t answer him at first, frozen under Remus’s stony stare.
Remus looked at him like he was seeing double, and maybe he was. Severus was, for his part. There was Remus Lupin the Marauder, standing by as Potter sent Severus into the air, calling him Snivellus, protecting one Black and marrying another. And there was Remus Lupin the Werewolf, offering his hand, brooding by the lake, kissing Severus and leaving.
He wondered who Remus was seeing.
But Malfoy called to him once more, so Severus tore his gaze from Remus to snap, “Alright! I’m going!”
Before leaving, he chanced one more glance over. Remus, somehow still fighting off Death Eaters as he watched Severus, took a step toward him, like he knew Severus was going to leave. But what could he say? What could he do?
Their choices were always going to lead them here, because they were always meant to hate each other.
They had to hate each other.
Love was never an option.
Severus sighed, and forgetting Lucius Malfoy, and Nymphadora Tonks, and even Lord Voldemort for a moment, he sent Remus a short nod, hoping he’d take it as the hand Severus should have extended when he was eleven.
He stowed away Remus’s slow, returned bend of his head, and kept the image tucked away next to the memory of his scar and his kiss.
And then Severus turned away, heading for the Shrieking Shack.