“That didn’t count as drinks, you know.” Lupin finally spoke, breathing out into the silence between them of the suddenly very empty teacher’s lounge. Flitwit had – at some point – retired to his quarters, leaving the two of them alone.
When Lupin had entered – disturbing the quiet of the place – Severus had given it some real thought to leaving. The bright flash of Lupin’s emotion – something like pleasant surprise – had nearly driven him out. But the baby – now the size of a raspberry, Poppy had told him that morning – seemed content enough, and he was loathed to move.
Instead, he continued to flip albeit a bit aimlessly through a potions periodical, occasionally making notes in the margin.
“Hmm,” he said, refusing to look up. He could feel Lupin’s gaze on him. “You seemed amenable to the idea at the time.” Severus took a sip of his tea.
“Drinks, Severus. You had one cup of tea . . . which you didn’t even finish!”
“My stomach was disagreeing with me,” he said, the little slip of the tongue pulling them closer to the truth than he liked.
Concern swamped him, and Severus closed his eyes, hand to his temple as though he could shut it out.
“Have you seen Poppy about it? Is that why you’ve been missing all the meals?” A warm hand brushed his arm, and Severus recoiled.
He fixed a dark glare on the lighter man. “I am not a child. Do not presume to coddle me, Lupin,” he hissed. Severus got to his feet, glowering down at the lycanthrope. He ignored the queasy feeling in his stomach.
“I’m not coddling you. It’s called concern, Severus,” Lupin said softly. “I don’t like knowing that one of my friends is ill.”
“I am not your friend, Lupin. Don’t delude yourself to think so,” Severus snapped out.
The look on Lupin’s face bordered on desolate – as though he’d received a Dementor’s Kiss.
Severus stalked from the lounge, bristling sharply. He let the doors to his rooms slam behind him, tearing at his thick teaching robes.
“Stupid fucking werewolf,” he snarled, struggling out of his clothes and heading for the bathroom. A blisteringly hot shower seemed to fit his mood. “Damn moron, dense as ever; we’re not fucking friends. One fucking night does not make us friends.”
“You know I love it when you cuss,” the mirror purred. “And when you’re fit to be tied.”
He threw his shirt at the offending item, effectively obscuring most of it as he undid his trousers. The mirror still managed to whistle wolfishly at him – which earned it a rather rude hand gesture as Severus cranked the knobs on the shower, watching the spray spring to life. He tucked himself into the water – hot, cooking him to the bones – and stood. The nausea was beaten back, relaxing to a dull heavy coil of ache around his lower back. His skin flushed a vibrant shade of crimson, all his blood vessels opening. It left him feeling lightheaded.
Severus spread his fingers on the slick wall, letting his body sway. He was acutely aware of his heart pounding heavy in his throat, that soft place just behind his jaw hinge. He was acutely aware of it slowing, bone-achingly heavy – thudding against the cage of his ribs, as though it wanted out, out, OUT.
YOU ARE READING
Your Baby is the Size of A...
FanficA year had passed since Voldemort had fallen - for good this time. And Severus reminded himself he was allowed to shake the shackles of the past off . . . just this once. He drained his drink. "Your rooms, or mine?" And so, they stumbled into the ro...
