Remix: The Universe is a Procession
Title: The Universe is a Procession, With Measured and Beautiful Motion (Remix)
Original author: busaikko
Remix author: magnetic_pole
Characters: Snape/Lupin (don't be scared off, flist); past RL/SB, RL/NT
Rating and warnings: PG. This is a story about identity and self-presentation and fitting into the procession of the universe.
Word count: 3500
Summary: Remus runs into Severus at a party. Things have changed since they saw each other last.
For busaikko, who has generously lent her story to me to play with.
The title and the lj-cut text are from "I Sing the Body Electric" by Walt Whitman. The first two lines of the story, the concept, and the clothes are all busaikko’s.
The original story is here. It’s very lovely; please read it.
No matter who it is, it is sacred…
Each has his or her place in the procession.'>
Remus was not a glamorous person. He preferred not to move in circles at all, but his publisher had passed on the invitation with a handwritten order: Go!
And so Remus went.
He had resisted at first. This was not part of the contract, not what he’d said he was willing to do for the promotions department. It was unfair to ask this of him, he thought, no matter how important the event. They knew he didn’t go out much.
Then, the day beforehand, he reconsidered. No better time than the present. The book was at press but already generating discussion. He’d have something to talk about when things got awkward. And he hadn’t come this far to stay at home on Saturday nights forever.
He pulled out the little black dress, its tags still attached, and hoped that it fit.
*
The dress was simple and elegant, black wool, short, with thin straps over the shoulders. He’d always been too thin, willowy like an adolescent, but he’d finally put on a little weight in the past few months, and now it fit through the waist and the hips almost perfectly. If he wore it with that black bra with the lacy straps, it would look fine.
He spent the afternoon banishing hair everywhere: calves, thighs, abdomen, chest, underarms, chin. He showered with the new shampoo and washed his hair twice.
He rummaged in his drawer and pulled out several tubes of lipstick. He tried the deep red only to remember that he wasn’t twenty any more, and this wasn’t just for the night, as it used to be. He wiped his lips and opted instead for a gentle pink color--summer blush, the tube said, despite the fact that it was still spring--and a demure strand of pearls. Too conservative? He took them off, tried them on again, and decided to leave them off. No point in calling too much attention to his throat.
He was surprised to remember, now that he was growing it out again, that his hair was curly and looked rather nice parted and tucked behind his ears.
The heels were uncomfortable. They always were. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. They looked good, though. He grabbed his pocketbook from the front hall and walked down the stairs to catch a taxi.
*
As he had suspected, this was the type of party where you could come dressed as you wanted, accompanying whomever you wanted, with a minimum of fuss. There was one awkward moment when a thoroughly inebriated executive leaned over, grasped his arm, and exclaimed, “You’re not how I imagined you at all!” in heartfelt tones, and another man in the group had laughed despite himself. Everyone looked uncomfortable for a minute or two, but all in all, Remus thought, the evening hadn’t been too bad.
He was almost ready to go when the host gripped his elbow and steered him in the direction of another group of guests. “I’m so glad you haven’t left yet,” she said.
“Stephen,” she called to one of the guests, who turned around to greet them. “I don’t think I need to introduce Rita. Rita, this is my friend Stephen Snape, who works at-
“We’ve met before,” Snape interrupted shortly. He and Remus stared at each other for a moment. This man was older than the one he remembered, grayer, with short hair and a smart Muggle suit of the type Remus would never have expected him to wear, but it was definitely the same one.
The host looked from one to the other, puzzled. “Right, well, you’ll have a lot to talk about, then.” And then she left.
“Rita?” Snape spat.
“Stephen?” Remus replied.
Suddenly-and Remus was surprised by this-Snape smiled, a small and twisted smile, to be sure, but a smile nevertheless. “I should have known when I saw the promotion materials. It’s not a common family name.”
Snape took a long look at him, eyes traveling up and down the lines of the dress. You had to hand it to Snape, Remus thought. The man was never afraid to be rude.
“So things didn’t work out with Tonks, did they?” he smirked.
Remus felt a surge of anger. “What makes you say that?” he asked coolly.
Snape raised an eyebrow.
“Things didn’t work out with the Death Eaters, either?” Remus countered.
Snape shrugged. “I did what I had to. You know that. Now I’m here.”
He looked at Remus very intensely, as if he were studying his face for some answer to a long-held question. Remus shifted slightly from one foot to the other and flexed his toes slightly inside his high heels.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Snape said, brow furled, his voice quiet.
Remus sighed. He hadn’t intended to see anyone again, either, and he imagined that Snape was just as unhappy to see him as he was to see Snape.
“I’ve left that world, too,” he said simply. Then, in a lower voice, so no one else could hear: “But before I left, I watched them snap your wand myself.”
He could tell from the way Snape flinched that his words had hurt, and, though he hadn’t intended harm, he felt proud of himself.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I was on my way home, I’m afraid.” As he moved away, straightening his shoulders and keeping his chin held high, he thought he could feel Snape’s eyes watching him depart.
*
There was a note in Snape’s copperplate writing forwarded from his editor several days later. “It seems ridiculous we’d both be here and not talk. Would you like to have lunch?” He had suggested a restaurant outside the city center and a time to meet on Saturday afternoon. Remus taped it above his desk and thought about it for a while. For whatever reason-because he was lonely, because he was polite, because he was curious even when he thought all the curiosity had been drained out of him-he replied.
*
That Saturday Remus got up and pulled two large boxes out from under the bed. He found an old pair of trousers in one, as well as boxers and a button-down shirt that didn’t smell too old or musty.
As he finished his shower and started to dress, he wadded the boxers up, tossed them in the laundry basket, and pulled a regular pair of knickers from the dresser.
*
Snape looked confused when he arrived at the restaurant. “I thought-“
Remus sat down across the table from him. “You thought what?” he asked, even though he knew perfectly well.
“I thought you’d have-” Snape said.
“Dressed up?” Remus asked.
Snape nodded.
Remus shrugged. “Didn’t know what the neighborhood was like. And it wasn’t as if you were asking me on a date.”
A peculiar expression crossed Snape’s face, and Remus felt his pulse quicken.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“No matter,” Snape said brusquely. “You might have combed your hair, though.”
“You’re one to talk,” Remus said lightly.
Snape gave him an odd look and ran his thin, pale fingers through his own hair. “Here,” he said, handing him a menu. “The food isn’t bad here.”
They sat quietly until their meals came and Snape finally spoke.
“I’m not calling you Rita,” he said.
“Lupin’s fine.”
“So is Snape.
“That’s how it’s always been,” Remus said amicably. He was halfway through his meal when he suddenly realized that Snape was watching him eat attentively, and he sat for a moment, digesting this idea along with the food.
“Do you see anyone ever?” he asked.
“No,” Snape replied. “Minerva, before she died. Secretly, of course. No one now.”
“She told me why you did what you did,” Remus said, feeling he needed to be fair after his comments the other evening. “And she said she thought the punishment was too harsh.”
Snape looked at him intently, nodding. “What did you think? Not that it matters, but I’m curious.”
“I suppose I’m not quite there yet,” Remus said slowly. “At the time his death was devastating.”
Snape nodded again, apparently untouched by the comment.
“And you, Lupin? Do you see anyone?”
“I see Harry sometimes,” Remus said slowly. “We’re not getting along, not exactly. He doesn’t understand why I wanted to leave.”
Snape shrugged. “That boy always needed things spelled out for him,” he said, his voice sour in the way Remus remembered.
Remus smiled despite himself.
“Well, I haven’t been gone as long as you have,” he said. “Harry will come around.”
Snape snorted.
They finished their lunch in an unexpectedly friendly silence, and Remus wasn’t surprised when Snape asked if he could see him again.
*
The second time they met it was at a little café near Remus’ flat that Remus had suggested, and Remus wore brown trousers, a soft brown twinset over her most comfortable bra, low heels and lipstick.
“You look like a middle-aged woman,” Snape said with a half-sneer on his face Remus couldn’t quite interpret.
“I am middle-aged,” Remus said mildly. “I’m forty six. You’re forty six. We’re not young any more. And you don’t look like you mind.”
The waiter arrived to give them menus, and, slyly, Remus turned her head so that Snape could see the pearls in her ears. She smiled when he saw that Snape’s eyes followed, and then she realized that waiter’s eyes had followed, too, and she laughed out loud.
“I intended to live well into my second century,” Snape said in a low voice as the waiter left. “Just because Muggles die early doesn’t mean we have to.” His eyes swept around the café and came back to Remus.
“They seem to know you here,” Snape said in a tone that was just short of accusatory.
“My sort of place,” Remus replied with a shrug. “I come here sometimes and flirt with the waiters.”
Snape seemed to think about this for a while, then nodded. “It’s not my sort of place, but then…” he said, trailing off.
“But, then again, you’re not comfortable anywhere,” she said.
Snape did not reply. It occurred to Remus that Snape had not complained about living here, and that the bitterness she had always associated with him was almost gone.
Under the table Remus slipped his hand onto Snape’s thigh and squeezed gently. She could feel Snape’s muscles tighten and then relax slowly, but he didn’t pull away.
This time they talked about work and the publishing world, about the books they had been reading and the reviews in last Sunday’s paper, and, very discreetly, about the things they missed about the wizarding world. This time there were no awkward pauses. Snape smiled at her as they left, a small, guarded smile, and Remus felt her heart lift.
*
They met at a park near Snape’s house the next time, and Remus wore a button-down shirt and soft gray denim jeans and no makeup at all.
“I’m confused,” Snape said bluntly when they met.
Remus took a deep breath. “So am I,” he said. “Does it really matter? To you?”
Snape shrugged. They walked the length of the park, talking about the weather and the spring flowers and Harry and the latest news at work. Then, when they had reached the most secluded corner and Remus was quite sure no one would see, he pulled Snape aside, stood on his toes, and kissed him gently on the cheek.
Snape froze but, to Remus’ relief, didn’t pull away.
“We can go back to talking about the weather,” Remus said after a moment.
Snape nodded, just the slightest jerk of his head, and they resumed their walk and their conversation. Remus looked at him carefully. It had been so long since he had been this close to someone he had almost forgotten what it was like. He missed this kind of closeness, knowing the texture of someone else’s skin, seeing the tiny flecks of color in someone else’s eyes, hearing the soft sounds of someone else’s breath. He suspected Snape missed this, too, because their arms brushed several times as they walked back.
*
They used the telephone to set up meeting times now instead of passing notes through Remus’ editor. When Remus rang to ask about a Saturday evening dinner, she asked specifically about the restaurant, because Snape didn’t appear to be any less choosy than before, and about what he should wear.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Remus said carefully. “Any preferences?”
There was a long pause at the other end, and Remus, hating herself a bit, held her breath.
“Something glamorous,” Snape said slowly, and Remus let out a sigh.
That evening she wore a short, wine-colored shift with a long, see-through black tunic, and the look in Snape’s eyes when he first saw her made her dizzy.
“Don’t be nervous,” Remus said gently. “If anyone looks at us in the wrong way we ask for the bill and leave. There won’t be a scene.”
“Since when have I cared what anyone thought?” Snape asked.
Remus let this pass.
They ordered wine at dinner and then, afterwards, coffee and dessert, and Snape laughed, not once, but three, now, four times. Remus, flushed with the wine and a sense of accomplishment, wondered aloud why it had been so long since her last date.
Snape mouth twisted. “Muggles,” he said “It’s hard to get to know them. I don’t blame you.”
Remus shook her head. “It’s not the Muggles, it’s me.”
Snape looked at her appraisingly. “There was the war, too. Both wars. They put a lot of things on hold.”
“True,” Remus said, nodding. “War puts a lot of things on hold. Then when I left that world and started writing I just wanted to be alone for a while…” She waved his hand vaguely. “Anyways, it’s been a long time for me.”
“Was it Black?” Snape asked after a moment. “Back then, I mean? He was a bloody poof if I ever saw one.”
Remus looked at him, frowning.
“I’m sorry,” Snape said immediately, contrite in a way Remus didn’t think she’d seen before. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Remus nodded and studied Snape’s face. “Does it matter, who it used to be?”
“I suppose not.” Snape’s lips were tight and his eyes narrow. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to dislike him any more, though, so you could say so if you wanted.”
Remus smiled faintly at Snape’s jealousy and took it for the backhanded compliment it was. “Let’s not speak ill of the dead.”
They sat in silence with their coffee for a moment. Remus could feel Snape watching her.
“So what was Tonks all about, then?” Snape asked.
Remus sighed. “I don't know. A stage. I thought I might be a lesbian.”
“Stuck in a man’s body?” Snape asked.
“We’re all stuck with a lot of things we didn’t ask for.”
Snape seemed to consider this.
“Anyway, I wasn’t, but she definitely was,” Remus added. “It didn’t last long.”
Snape laughed shortly, taken aback. “Her, too? The whole Order was--?”
Remus frowned. “Not the whole Order," she said. "Just us three. Maybe one of the kids. So far as I know.” She glanced at Snape curiously, and Snape’s lip curled.
“I’m straight, Lupin,” he said dryly. “Despite the way this must seem.”
Remus nodded. “That’s fine.” She phrased her next words carefully. “I like men. I’m just not sure if I am one myself.”
Snape did not reply, and Remus thought about how best to explain. “I don’t know if I’m going to go through with the change. At twenty I would have done it without a second thought, but at twenty it wasn’t an option. And now…” She sighed. “Well, now I’m stuck between. I’m thinking about it. Maybe. Maybe not.”
It was a warm late spring night, and they walked the long route back to Remus’ flat. When they got back to Remus’ neighborhood, close to home, Remus slipped her arm around Snape’s waist.
It had always been Sirius who did this back then, who put a strong arm around Remus' waist and frowned at anyone passing by who looked at them for too long, who pressed up against Remus in the doorway when they arrived at home, eager and affectionate.
This time it was Rita who squeezed Snape around the waist and held his hand as they neared the front door and leaned in to kiss him good night. Snape hesitated at first, but then he relaxed and slipped his hands behind her head, threading his fingers through her hair, and kissed her back.
*
Two months later it was August, and Rita suggested the seashore. Snape picked her up in a small, second-hand car and smiled at his sunglasses and his tiny, strappy tank top and the glimpse of bare, tan stomach that showed.
“Very nice,” Snape said. Snape was wearing shorts and a tee shirt, and his own arms and legs were bare for the first time, Rita noticed. They were firm and covered in dark hair, and he was astonishingly pale.
Rita smiled back. “Let’s go.”
The shore was crowded and raucous and hot, and they both stripped to their swim trunks and went in the water.
When they got out of the water Remus rubbed sun tan lotion on Snape’s back, and they sunned themselves, lying flat on warm beach towels. Rita was so relaxed and content she was almost asleep.
After a while Rita noticed that Snape was sitting up and looking at her legs with a thoughtful expression.
“Like what you see?” she asked with a sly smile.
“Do you use charms?” Snape asked.
“What?” Rita asked, and then laughed when she realized what Snape was asking. “Instead of shaving, you mean? And here I thought you were about to compliment me.”
Snape grimaced, but it was a half-hearted grimace Rita knew she could ignore.
“Definitely,” Rita said. “Magic’s good for something other than ruining our lives.”
Had the day been any less sunny or lazy or happy this would have come out all wrong, but instead Snape simply smiled at her, the lines around his eyes crinkling in a way Rita loved, and she smiled back.
They stopped at Snape’s house on the way home.
“I never picked you for the suburban type,” she said when she saw the house for the first time. “Do you garden?”
“It’s private,” Snape said shortly. “It suits me.”
It was indeed private inside, cosy and neat and organized the way Rita imagined it would be. There were no photographs, no personal effects on the tabletops. Her own flat was messier but the same way. Snape watched her look around the house but kept silent.
“Do you want to shower and change?” Snape asked, handing her a glass of water. “I can make dinner while you do.”
It was an invitation to stay, at least a little while, and Rita took it. She was toweling off when she heard Snape call out that dinner was ready.
She had brought a loose, oversized white shirt, and she pulled that on now over her nicest pair of knickers. The shirt’s hem touched the top of her thighs. She put on a touch of lipstick and combed her hair, and when she returned to the kitchen Snape’s eyes flicked towards her one and then twice. Rita smirked.
They ate in the backyard, which was overgrown with wildflowers and green and shady and somehow seemed a world apart from the rest of their lives. Rita laced a bare foot through Snape’s legs.
“I suppose we have Harry to thank for this,” Snape said grudgingly. “In a way.”
“I think we’ve done just fine on our own, too,” Rita said, and Snape leaned over to kiss her.
It was the first kiss completely without hesitation, Rita realized, and the first time that Snape’s hands strayed below her waist and beneath the waistband of her knickers. As they pulled away from one another Rita saw that Snape had the hem of her shirt clutched between his fingers.
When they had finished, Rita helped Snape carry their plates back into the kitchen, and then she took Snape by the hand and pulled him up the stairs.
“It’s not so different,” she said quietly when Snape hesitated at the top of the last flight, eyes on the bedroom door.
Snape smiled a crooked, awkward smile. “I suppose not.”
“And you’d hate to have it said that Sirius Black was better at something than you were,” Rita said, and held her breath. She was never sure what would make Snape smile.
Snape snorted and then his lips quirked, and then he was laughing, loudly and freely. Rita, delighted, watched him for a few moments before she kissed him.
*
Rita was up first the next morning, sitting on the windowsill wrapped in her shirt, looking out into the garden, when she heard Snape shift under the covers.
“You’re up early,” Snape said without opening his eyes.
“I thought you’d be the early rising type,” Rita said lightly. “Ready to chastise me for my lazy habits.”
“Things change,” Snape said and opened one eye cautiously, just enough to check for Rita's reaction. Rita smiled at him, raising one eyebrow slyly, and let Snape interpret that any way he wanted.
“Come back to bed,” Snape said, and Rita did, wiping a smudge of lipstick off of Snape’s shoulder with her thumb before pulling the sheets up.
“You didn’t tell me about the house or the garden,” she said. “It’s beautiful here.”
Snape opened both eyes and looked at her seriously. “It is,” he said. Then, after a moment: “You are.”
Rita held Snape’s hand. There was no need to say anything in reply.
Original author: busaikko
Remix author: magnetic_pole
Characters: Snape/Lupin (don't be scared off, flist); past RL/SB, RL/NT
Rating and warnings: PG. This is a story about identity and self-presentation and fitting into the procession of the universe.
Word count: 3500
Summary: Remus runs into Severus at a party. Things have changed since they saw each other last.
For busaikko, who has generously lent her story to me to play with.
The title and the lj-cut text are from "I Sing the Body Electric" by Walt Whitman. The first two lines of the story, the concept, and the clothes are all busaikko’s.
The original story is here. It’s very lovely; please read it.
No matter who it is, it is sacred…
Each has his or her place in the procession.'>
Remus was not a glamorous person. He preferred not to move in circles at all, but his publisher had passed on the invitation with a handwritten order: Go!
And so Remus went.
He had resisted at first. This was not part of the contract, not what he’d said he was willing to do for the promotions department. It was unfair to ask this of him, he thought, no matter how important the event. They knew he didn’t go out much.
Then, the day beforehand, he reconsidered. No better time than the present. The book was at press but already generating discussion. He’d have something to talk about when things got awkward. And he hadn’t come this far to stay at home on Saturday nights forever.
He pulled out the little black dress, its tags still attached, and hoped that it fit.
*
The dress was simple and elegant, black wool, short, with thin straps over the shoulders. He’d always been too thin, willowy like an adolescent, but he’d finally put on a little weight in the past few months, and now it fit through the waist and the hips almost perfectly. If he wore it with that black bra with the lacy straps, it would look fine.
He spent the afternoon banishing hair everywhere: calves, thighs, abdomen, chest, underarms, chin. He showered with the new shampoo and washed his hair twice.
He rummaged in his drawer and pulled out several tubes of lipstick. He tried the deep red only to remember that he wasn’t twenty any more, and this wasn’t just for the night, as it used to be. He wiped his lips and opted instead for a gentle pink color--summer blush, the tube said, despite the fact that it was still spring--and a demure strand of pearls. Too conservative? He took them off, tried them on again, and decided to leave them off. No point in calling too much attention to his throat.
He was surprised to remember, now that he was growing it out again, that his hair was curly and looked rather nice parted and tucked behind his ears.
The heels were uncomfortable. They always were. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. They looked good, though. He grabbed his pocketbook from the front hall and walked down the stairs to catch a taxi.
*
As he had suspected, this was the type of party where you could come dressed as you wanted, accompanying whomever you wanted, with a minimum of fuss. There was one awkward moment when a thoroughly inebriated executive leaned over, grasped his arm, and exclaimed, “You’re not how I imagined you at all!” in heartfelt tones, and another man in the group had laughed despite himself. Everyone looked uncomfortable for a minute or two, but all in all, Remus thought, the evening hadn’t been too bad.
He was almost ready to go when the host gripped his elbow and steered him in the direction of another group of guests. “I’m so glad you haven’t left yet,” she said.
“Stephen,” she called to one of the guests, who turned around to greet them. “I don’t think I need to introduce Rita. Rita, this is my friend Stephen Snape, who works at-
“We’ve met before,” Snape interrupted shortly. He and Remus stared at each other for a moment. This man was older than the one he remembered, grayer, with short hair and a smart Muggle suit of the type Remus would never have expected him to wear, but it was definitely the same one.
The host looked from one to the other, puzzled. “Right, well, you’ll have a lot to talk about, then.” And then she left.
“Rita?” Snape spat.
“Stephen?” Remus replied.
Suddenly-and Remus was surprised by this-Snape smiled, a small and twisted smile, to be sure, but a smile nevertheless. “I should have known when I saw the promotion materials. It’s not a common family name.”
Snape took a long look at him, eyes traveling up and down the lines of the dress. You had to hand it to Snape, Remus thought. The man was never afraid to be rude.
“So things didn’t work out with Tonks, did they?” he smirked.
Remus felt a surge of anger. “What makes you say that?” he asked coolly.
Snape raised an eyebrow.
“Things didn’t work out with the Death Eaters, either?” Remus countered.
Snape shrugged. “I did what I had to. You know that. Now I’m here.”
He looked at Remus very intensely, as if he were studying his face for some answer to a long-held question. Remus shifted slightly from one foot to the other and flexed his toes slightly inside his high heels.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Snape said, brow furled, his voice quiet.
Remus sighed. He hadn’t intended to see anyone again, either, and he imagined that Snape was just as unhappy to see him as he was to see Snape.
“I’ve left that world, too,” he said simply. Then, in a lower voice, so no one else could hear: “But before I left, I watched them snap your wand myself.”
He could tell from the way Snape flinched that his words had hurt, and, though he hadn’t intended harm, he felt proud of himself.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I was on my way home, I’m afraid.” As he moved away, straightening his shoulders and keeping his chin held high, he thought he could feel Snape’s eyes watching him depart.
*
There was a note in Snape’s copperplate writing forwarded from his editor several days later. “It seems ridiculous we’d both be here and not talk. Would you like to have lunch?” He had suggested a restaurant outside the city center and a time to meet on Saturday afternoon. Remus taped it above his desk and thought about it for a while. For whatever reason-because he was lonely, because he was polite, because he was curious even when he thought all the curiosity had been drained out of him-he replied.
*
That Saturday Remus got up and pulled two large boxes out from under the bed. He found an old pair of trousers in one, as well as boxers and a button-down shirt that didn’t smell too old or musty.
As he finished his shower and started to dress, he wadded the boxers up, tossed them in the laundry basket, and pulled a regular pair of knickers from the dresser.
*
Snape looked confused when he arrived at the restaurant. “I thought-“
Remus sat down across the table from him. “You thought what?” he asked, even though he knew perfectly well.
“I thought you’d have-” Snape said.
“Dressed up?” Remus asked.
Snape nodded.
Remus shrugged. “Didn’t know what the neighborhood was like. And it wasn’t as if you were asking me on a date.”
A peculiar expression crossed Snape’s face, and Remus felt his pulse quicken.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“No matter,” Snape said brusquely. “You might have combed your hair, though.”
“You’re one to talk,” Remus said lightly.
Snape gave him an odd look and ran his thin, pale fingers through his own hair. “Here,” he said, handing him a menu. “The food isn’t bad here.”
They sat quietly until their meals came and Snape finally spoke.
“I’m not calling you Rita,” he said.
“Lupin’s fine.”
“So is Snape.
“That’s how it’s always been,” Remus said amicably. He was halfway through his meal when he suddenly realized that Snape was watching him eat attentively, and he sat for a moment, digesting this idea along with the food.
“Do you see anyone ever?” he asked.
“No,” Snape replied. “Minerva, before she died. Secretly, of course. No one now.”
“She told me why you did what you did,” Remus said, feeling he needed to be fair after his comments the other evening. “And she said she thought the punishment was too harsh.”
Snape looked at him intently, nodding. “What did you think? Not that it matters, but I’m curious.”
“I suppose I’m not quite there yet,” Remus said slowly. “At the time his death was devastating.”
Snape nodded again, apparently untouched by the comment.
“And you, Lupin? Do you see anyone?”
“I see Harry sometimes,” Remus said slowly. “We’re not getting along, not exactly. He doesn’t understand why I wanted to leave.”
Snape shrugged. “That boy always needed things spelled out for him,” he said, his voice sour in the way Remus remembered.
Remus smiled despite himself.
“Well, I haven’t been gone as long as you have,” he said. “Harry will come around.”
Snape snorted.
They finished their lunch in an unexpectedly friendly silence, and Remus wasn’t surprised when Snape asked if he could see him again.
*
The second time they met it was at a little café near Remus’ flat that Remus had suggested, and Remus wore brown trousers, a soft brown twinset over her most comfortable bra, low heels and lipstick.
“You look like a middle-aged woman,” Snape said with a half-sneer on his face Remus couldn’t quite interpret.
“I am middle-aged,” Remus said mildly. “I’m forty six. You’re forty six. We’re not young any more. And you don’t look like you mind.”
The waiter arrived to give them menus, and, slyly, Remus turned her head so that Snape could see the pearls in her ears. She smiled when he saw that Snape’s eyes followed, and then she realized that waiter’s eyes had followed, too, and she laughed out loud.
“I intended to live well into my second century,” Snape said in a low voice as the waiter left. “Just because Muggles die early doesn’t mean we have to.” His eyes swept around the café and came back to Remus.
“They seem to know you here,” Snape said in a tone that was just short of accusatory.
“My sort of place,” Remus replied with a shrug. “I come here sometimes and flirt with the waiters.”
Snape seemed to think about this for a while, then nodded. “It’s not my sort of place, but then…” he said, trailing off.
“But, then again, you’re not comfortable anywhere,” she said.
Snape did not reply. It occurred to Remus that Snape had not complained about living here, and that the bitterness she had always associated with him was almost gone.
Under the table Remus slipped his hand onto Snape’s thigh and squeezed gently. She could feel Snape’s muscles tighten and then relax slowly, but he didn’t pull away.
This time they talked about work and the publishing world, about the books they had been reading and the reviews in last Sunday’s paper, and, very discreetly, about the things they missed about the wizarding world. This time there were no awkward pauses. Snape smiled at her as they left, a small, guarded smile, and Remus felt her heart lift.
*
They met at a park near Snape’s house the next time, and Remus wore a button-down shirt and soft gray denim jeans and no makeup at all.
“I’m confused,” Snape said bluntly when they met.
Remus took a deep breath. “So am I,” he said. “Does it really matter? To you?”
Snape shrugged. They walked the length of the park, talking about the weather and the spring flowers and Harry and the latest news at work. Then, when they had reached the most secluded corner and Remus was quite sure no one would see, he pulled Snape aside, stood on his toes, and kissed him gently on the cheek.
Snape froze but, to Remus’ relief, didn’t pull away.
“We can go back to talking about the weather,” Remus said after a moment.
Snape nodded, just the slightest jerk of his head, and they resumed their walk and their conversation. Remus looked at him carefully. It had been so long since he had been this close to someone he had almost forgotten what it was like. He missed this kind of closeness, knowing the texture of someone else’s skin, seeing the tiny flecks of color in someone else’s eyes, hearing the soft sounds of someone else’s breath. He suspected Snape missed this, too, because their arms brushed several times as they walked back.
*
They used the telephone to set up meeting times now instead of passing notes through Remus’ editor. When Remus rang to ask about a Saturday evening dinner, she asked specifically about the restaurant, because Snape didn’t appear to be any less choosy than before, and about what he should wear.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Remus said carefully. “Any preferences?”
There was a long pause at the other end, and Remus, hating herself a bit, held her breath.
“Something glamorous,” Snape said slowly, and Remus let out a sigh.
That evening she wore a short, wine-colored shift with a long, see-through black tunic, and the look in Snape’s eyes when he first saw her made her dizzy.
“Don’t be nervous,” Remus said gently. “If anyone looks at us in the wrong way we ask for the bill and leave. There won’t be a scene.”
“Since when have I cared what anyone thought?” Snape asked.
Remus let this pass.
They ordered wine at dinner and then, afterwards, coffee and dessert, and Snape laughed, not once, but three, now, four times. Remus, flushed with the wine and a sense of accomplishment, wondered aloud why it had been so long since her last date.
Snape mouth twisted. “Muggles,” he said “It’s hard to get to know them. I don’t blame you.”
Remus shook her head. “It’s not the Muggles, it’s me.”
Snape looked at her appraisingly. “There was the war, too. Both wars. They put a lot of things on hold.”
“True,” Remus said, nodding. “War puts a lot of things on hold. Then when I left that world and started writing I just wanted to be alone for a while…” She waved his hand vaguely. “Anyways, it’s been a long time for me.”
“Was it Black?” Snape asked after a moment. “Back then, I mean? He was a bloody poof if I ever saw one.”
Remus looked at him, frowning.
“I’m sorry,” Snape said immediately, contrite in a way Remus didn’t think she’d seen before. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Remus nodded and studied Snape’s face. “Does it matter, who it used to be?”
“I suppose not.” Snape’s lips were tight and his eyes narrow. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to dislike him any more, though, so you could say so if you wanted.”
Remus smiled faintly at Snape’s jealousy and took it for the backhanded compliment it was. “Let’s not speak ill of the dead.”
They sat in silence with their coffee for a moment. Remus could feel Snape watching her.
“So what was Tonks all about, then?” Snape asked.
Remus sighed. “I don't know. A stage. I thought I might be a lesbian.”
“Stuck in a man’s body?” Snape asked.
“We’re all stuck with a lot of things we didn’t ask for.”
Snape seemed to consider this.
“Anyway, I wasn’t, but she definitely was,” Remus added. “It didn’t last long.”
Snape laughed shortly, taken aback. “Her, too? The whole Order was--?”
Remus frowned. “Not the whole Order," she said. "Just us three. Maybe one of the kids. So far as I know.” She glanced at Snape curiously, and Snape’s lip curled.
“I’m straight, Lupin,” he said dryly. “Despite the way this must seem.”
Remus nodded. “That’s fine.” She phrased her next words carefully. “I like men. I’m just not sure if I am one myself.”
Snape did not reply, and Remus thought about how best to explain. “I don’t know if I’m going to go through with the change. At twenty I would have done it without a second thought, but at twenty it wasn’t an option. And now…” She sighed. “Well, now I’m stuck between. I’m thinking about it. Maybe. Maybe not.”
It was a warm late spring night, and they walked the long route back to Remus’ flat. When they got back to Remus’ neighborhood, close to home, Remus slipped her arm around Snape’s waist.
It had always been Sirius who did this back then, who put a strong arm around Remus' waist and frowned at anyone passing by who looked at them for too long, who pressed up against Remus in the doorway when they arrived at home, eager and affectionate.
This time it was Rita who squeezed Snape around the waist and held his hand as they neared the front door and leaned in to kiss him good night. Snape hesitated at first, but then he relaxed and slipped his hands behind her head, threading his fingers through her hair, and kissed her back.
*
Two months later it was August, and Rita suggested the seashore. Snape picked her up in a small, second-hand car and smiled at his sunglasses and his tiny, strappy tank top and the glimpse of bare, tan stomach that showed.
“Very nice,” Snape said. Snape was wearing shorts and a tee shirt, and his own arms and legs were bare for the first time, Rita noticed. They were firm and covered in dark hair, and he was astonishingly pale.
Rita smiled back. “Let’s go.”
The shore was crowded and raucous and hot, and they both stripped to their swim trunks and went in the water.
When they got out of the water Remus rubbed sun tan lotion on Snape’s back, and they sunned themselves, lying flat on warm beach towels. Rita was so relaxed and content she was almost asleep.
After a while Rita noticed that Snape was sitting up and looking at her legs with a thoughtful expression.
“Like what you see?” she asked with a sly smile.
“Do you use charms?” Snape asked.
“What?” Rita asked, and then laughed when she realized what Snape was asking. “Instead of shaving, you mean? And here I thought you were about to compliment me.”
Snape grimaced, but it was a half-hearted grimace Rita knew she could ignore.
“Definitely,” Rita said. “Magic’s good for something other than ruining our lives.”
Had the day been any less sunny or lazy or happy this would have come out all wrong, but instead Snape simply smiled at her, the lines around his eyes crinkling in a way Rita loved, and she smiled back.
They stopped at Snape’s house on the way home.
“I never picked you for the suburban type,” she said when she saw the house for the first time. “Do you garden?”
“It’s private,” Snape said shortly. “It suits me.”
It was indeed private inside, cosy and neat and organized the way Rita imagined it would be. There were no photographs, no personal effects on the tabletops. Her own flat was messier but the same way. Snape watched her look around the house but kept silent.
“Do you want to shower and change?” Snape asked, handing her a glass of water. “I can make dinner while you do.”
It was an invitation to stay, at least a little while, and Rita took it. She was toweling off when she heard Snape call out that dinner was ready.
She had brought a loose, oversized white shirt, and she pulled that on now over her nicest pair of knickers. The shirt’s hem touched the top of her thighs. She put on a touch of lipstick and combed her hair, and when she returned to the kitchen Snape’s eyes flicked towards her one and then twice. Rita smirked.
They ate in the backyard, which was overgrown with wildflowers and green and shady and somehow seemed a world apart from the rest of their lives. Rita laced a bare foot through Snape’s legs.
“I suppose we have Harry to thank for this,” Snape said grudgingly. “In a way.”
“I think we’ve done just fine on our own, too,” Rita said, and Snape leaned over to kiss her.
It was the first kiss completely without hesitation, Rita realized, and the first time that Snape’s hands strayed below her waist and beneath the waistband of her knickers. As they pulled away from one another Rita saw that Snape had the hem of her shirt clutched between his fingers.
When they had finished, Rita helped Snape carry their plates back into the kitchen, and then she took Snape by the hand and pulled him up the stairs.
“It’s not so different,” she said quietly when Snape hesitated at the top of the last flight, eyes on the bedroom door.
Snape smiled a crooked, awkward smile. “I suppose not.”
“And you’d hate to have it said that Sirius Black was better at something than you were,” Rita said, and held her breath. She was never sure what would make Snape smile.
Snape snorted and then his lips quirked, and then he was laughing, loudly and freely. Rita, delighted, watched him for a few moments before she kissed him.
*
Rita was up first the next morning, sitting on the windowsill wrapped in her shirt, looking out into the garden, when she heard Snape shift under the covers.
“You’re up early,” Snape said without opening his eyes.
“I thought you’d be the early rising type,” Rita said lightly. “Ready to chastise me for my lazy habits.”
“Things change,” Snape said and opened one eye cautiously, just enough to check for Rita's reaction. Rita smiled at him, raising one eyebrow slyly, and let Snape interpret that any way he wanted.
“Come back to bed,” Snape said, and Rita did, wiping a smudge of lipstick off of Snape’s shoulder with her thumb before pulling the sheets up.
“You didn’t tell me about the house or the garden,” she said. “It’s beautiful here.”
Snape opened both eyes and looked at her seriously. “It is,” he said. Then, after a moment: “You are.”
Rita held Snape’s hand. There was no need to say anything in reply.