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𝚇𝚇𝙸𝙸 >> 𝙰𝙽 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙱𝙸𝚂

< 2 MONTHS, 1 WEEK, 3 DAYS >

It's irresolute exactly when the long claws of the wolf shorten themselves back to hirsute coverings for human hands, but soon enough it's happened, and those very palms rest on Snape's shoulder, shaking him awake to meet the sun.

"Sev," Remus whispers as he attempts to rouse him. "Sev!"

Snape grimaces at the ceiling, deciding that it's impossible to open his eyes while he does it. "What?"

"You said that you're lost, and the spell wants me to be the one who finds you."

Tiredness begins to beckon Severus back into its gripe, and he groans into the mattress to fend wakefulness even further away.

"Yes," he manages after a long while. Remus isn't ready to let him sleep.

"Do you think I must use the spell?" he asks, and Snape finally opens his eyes to sit up and stare him down in scorn.

"What?" he asks. "You wake me up for this? Isn't this something we can deftly canvass after the sky stops being leaden rather than before? What time is it? Armageddon? Let me sleep through it."

"Severus," Remus urges, one hand on each of Snape's shoulders to tell him that his idea is something he thinks is very seminal indeed. "I think I should try to use it. To complete its wishes."

"I'm sure it means what it means in a way that is strictly metaphorical," Snape barks dispassionately. "You could have at minimum waited until you were appareled to drag me back to this earth. Put on some pants, for fuck's sake. Or a... blanket."

Lupin doesn't process the pivoting remark. "But we must try—" he begins to reiterate, but then he meanders to the side of the mattress and regurgitates onto the floor. Severus pinches the bridge of his nose with his first finger and thumb, sighing in a way that's no less indignant than the way it manifests.

"Christ, Remus," he breathes as Lupin sits back up and continues his sentence as if nothing has happened at all.

"We must try it in case it means something else," the werewolf finally spits out, and Severus tentatively integrates the fact that there's no way he'll be getting any more sleep in this delineated situation.

"Very well. Make an attempt if you must," he augurs (he isn't sure how or why he turns it into a threat, but he's sure he can vaguely relate some sort of corollary if asked), and walks off over to the other end of the room to grab his extra robes. Lupin's voice seeps into his spine as he turns his back to him.

"I would have with or without your permission, you know," Remus clarifies before uttering, "Delocaponum."

And then Snape is at the foot of the mattress again, freezing mid-step to assess his surroundings. His foot lands on the floor. His vision shifts dubiously around the room.

"What the hell was that?" he demands softly, though his tone is rather disarranged about it all. "How... What were you thinking when you said that? What were you aiming to effectuate?"

Remus, most fittingly, both sounds and looks like a puppy, innocuously oversetting his head to answer. "I was only thinking of you."

Snape grabs his notes and a pen. "And so it is that the spell can convey others at will."

"I don't know if it's anyone other than... us, you know," Remus replies, "because you'd think I could, for example, get Albus in here, but watch me try. Delocaponum—" A pen lands on the bed. "Oh, I've been missing that."