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𝚇𝙸𝙸 >> 𝙱𝚈 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙰𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

< 1 MONTH, 1 WEEK, 6 DAYS >

Remus has been asked, or rather ordered, to stay. Just until he feels better, of course. It's easier to tend to him without smiting his cottage with an extra guest every time it must be done.

So he's stayed for the past two nights, him sprawled out vertically on the middle of the mattress as Severus sleeps horizontally on the end. And it's worked. Potions have been administered; books have been read. Shakespeare has been recited and it has smelt of springtime and Remus has begun to feel much better. Although he hasn't told this to Snape. He wouldn't want to be sent home so quickly. But, on the flip side, Severus hasn't asked, either. Perhaps he doesn't want him to leave just as well.

Lupin hasn't realized in full effect how lonely he is. Not until Saturday. Not until he spent his entire day with someone else. Of course it urticated him to lose James and Lily, and then Peter, and then Sirius. Oh, it hurt like hell. It was noisome shifting alone. It was egregious being the only animate being in his cottage for weeks on end. But people grow accustomed to things. People acclimate. And when this happens, they tend to forget how nice it is to actually be with someone, to have connections, to know there's always a person that is out there and willing to see you.

He's recovered almost fully from his shifting. A bit of soreness here and there, but nothing too terrible, and nothing he cannot bear himself.

He's been taking walks around the school to stretch his muscles, lionizing the old architecture that he's so familiar with, reliving his second juvenescent home. And, with the repeated venomous reminder, "Don't let the children see you. Walk only in empty halls during classes," that Snape has given him on many occasions, he's heeded his advice, and walks now near the end of the last class period of the day, scampering down the cylindrical dungeon stairs to beat the rush of students at the end of the period.

He steps into the private office he's been staying in since Saturday morning, closing the door and pacing about the room. With it so empty like this, with only himself in it, it's exigent to determine what exactly to do.

But the dilemma doesn't last for long. The familiar sound of opening doors and scuffling feet passes the door after only a few minutes, the blether of students dying down as they exit the dungeons and the hall is once again left in silence.

And then there's dialogue again. Quieter, modulated, between Severus and someone else. Remus can't quite construe any of it, the words muffled and the voices distorted by the connecting wall between the office and the classroom, and then there's an absolute tantrum.

"You have got to be bloody kidding me."

The voice travels with renitent footfalls to the office door as the other, still calm, makes an attempt to reason with him. Remus, glaciated in form, doesn't know whether or not he should move away or hide, but he doesn't have to make the decision. The door opens and Severus storms inside, escaping a dryly irritated Minerva McGonagall standing in the doorway. And it's aimless trying to shield himself from her view; they've already made casual eye contact, and she keeps speaking as if it makes no difference to her whether or not he is present at the school.

"...truly customary to do such things in your position," she soothes, continuing whichever sentence she had started while the door was still closed. Snape brushes by Lupin as if he isn't even there, disregarding him as he sets all his class materials on his desk. "It's certainly not the emergency you deem it to be. Such drama is barely necessary, Severus. Don't pretend you're even surprised. Hello, Mr. Lupin."

Remus nods, stuck in a disoriented, confused state as Severus hurries back to the doorway, removing his top robes from their position over his tunic and flinging them angrily at his bed as if to make a statement.