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𝚇𝚇𝚇 >> 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙰𝙻𝚂

< 2 MONTHS, 4 WEEKS, 1 DAY >

Snape has draped himself over Lupin's armchair like the robes that trickle down the legs of them. He watches the window. It's snowing again. He's become tired of snow.

Remus has put in another vinyl — Sky's The Limit from The Temptations — and he stands with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a mug of herbal tea. He, too, watches the window. There's nothing else to focus on.

The Ministry has caught wind of everything. Every rumor, every contention, every situation has been disseminated to them by whom Albus Dumbledore has suggested to be Peritus herself.

A court hearing has been scheduled for the fifth of May. Not because the Ministry knows about the many problems (they could not care less about the interest of any children; they've made that clear since the nineteenth century), but because Fallacia herself has decided to sue, claiming that she is being framed and endangered and that Severus will take her fingernails, too. Snape only wishes.

"I, uh," Lupin says quietly, taking a sip of the tea as Just My Imagination wraps its melody around his sweater, "I'll have to keep a... lower profile."

"Always, Rem," Severus replies. "Not a single tactless move. If they find out you're directly concatenated to both myself and lycanthropy, you may end up... being reunited with an old friend in imprisonment within the next few months."

"And we mustn't be careful only for my sake," Remus adds. "The Ministry despises my kind. If I'm incriminated, I'll only make their views of the demographic far worse. The biases against werewolves will only begin to be made rough and permanently calloused."

Severus sighs. "This alone gives them more evidence against you than they'd ever be able to find under my name," he replies. "Even more reason to keep you out of the narrative entirely."

Lupin nods. He parallels the snow, his eyes migrating with it from the top of his window to its sill. How like the snow he waxes in his days. How free he is, even when he's cornered. Even when he's outrunning the law, Remus is never truly running.

"I don't even have a job," Lupin says aloud, though it's been transpicuous through his expression that the thought has circulated within him for some time now. "If they hear about me, it'll be the perfect ruling. I do nothing else with my time — and I'm a monster — so naturally I must keep busy by terrorizing and assaulting children. I've entered the school. I've been around." His eyes flash on Snape's direction, somewhat bothered, lost in thought.

"We won't mention you," says the professor, leaning his head back against the cushion behind him. "Perhaps you should take a few weeks off and see your father during the case. Stay out of it all. Be... away."

The record has a scratch. Skipping past nearly an entire song, it lands halfway through Smiling Faces Sometimes and continues on. Lupin shakes his head. There is pity in it, in the limpness of his stiffened shoulders, in the crinosity of his hispid hair.

"I can't see him," he says. He drinks his tea; leans on the wall. "We have a strained relationship already, and I don't intend to burden him with my condition any more than I already have."

Snape tips his head in thought. Or, at least, what he feigns to be thought; candidly, his eyes are only fixed on the man in front of him — who is more adrift than what is typical — and he lets himself be bothered with thinking of ways to mend the worries attached to him.

"You could stay at my parents' old place. Spinner's End may be excruciating, but it's quiet and well-secluded," he offers. "Not a soul else lives there and it artlessly has fallen into my ownership; thus you are invited."