Postal

Eighteen

Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open your eyes...

Her eyes flickered open for only a moment before being blinded by a piercing blue-white glare. Esmerelda reflexively shielded her weary pupils with her leaden lids and immediately cried out as excruciating pain ripped through her lungs like a sharp, white-hot spike. With her sudden gasp, her eyes flew open.

Better.

"Ms. Plofufnik, you're awake!" The light, sweet voice of a young woman met her ears from somewhere to her right. Squinting, though taking care not to blink, Emerelda angled her head off the pillow to turn, but a pair of hands firmly pressed her shoulders back down onto the canvas backing of a makeshift cot.

"Sorry," apologized the girl. "Didn't mean to startle you. We just hadn't expected you to wake quite so soon."

The girl's shadow eclipsed the lamplight, framing her short brown curls with an amber halo. She smiled warmly, blue eyes crinkling behind round horn-rimmed spectacles. She wore white medi-robes and a little blue badge.

Esmerelda's dry lips cracked as the question escaped her mouth. "Are... you... a doctor?"

The girl's smile widened in amusement. "Oh, no! I'm just here at the Ministry for a two-week internship."

Opening her mouth again, Esmerelda winced at the pain in her throat. It was difficult simply to draw breath.

"No, don't speak, if it hurts. It's just the Restorative Salve working," she said soothingly. "I'm Natalya Ivanova Moody. But call me Naja, it's simpler." As she spoke, the girl turned to an empty hearth and began to pack things into a large black satchel. "Doctor Reverte just stepped out to owl St. Mungo's for your results-"

An abrupt knock on the door startled Naja into clattering against a tray full of strange, sharp instruments beside a mound of multi-coloured healing crystals on the mantelpiece. Drawn by the movement, Esmerelda's eyes followed the girl's fingers as she meticulously repositioned the glittering steel instruments.

"I'll be back in just a minute," she explained, giving her patient a reassuring smile before slipping out the door with a soft click.

Dropping her head back, Esmerelda sighed, closing her eyes. Aaarrgh! The pain convulsed through her torso, propelling her into an upright position.

Now. Take the knife.

Startled, she brown eyes opened wide. She blinked. No.

Take the knife. TAKE IT!

No! She screwed her eyes shut, weathering the piercing torture, this time accompanied by a gut-wrenching twist that felt like a little porcupine burrowing into her abdomen. She opened her mouth to scream, but her voice failed her. Then, unexpectedly, the pain receded until she no longer felt as if she'd been skewered and twisted on a stake. Her breathing came in uneven, irregular gasps.

Now. Listen. Obey. Take the knife.

She shook, watching her hand, pale and trembling, reach across the open space. A few inches and three quick breaths and the cool, sharp steel edge grated the underside of her fingers. But what she felt was... a pleasant floating.

Now shrink it.

A raspily whispered "Reducio" issued from her throat and she watched helplessly as the knife shrank to the size of a small needle. Her fingers no longer trembled, but they no longer felt her own. They moved jerkily but assuredly, like string-less puppets, tucking the tiny blade into the folds of her medical robe's sleeve.

Falling back onto the cot once again, she felt drained. Beads of perspiration trickled from her forehead across her temples, by-products of her failed efforts to resist. The only thing that felt good was to obey. And somewhere, in the distance beyond the puppet stage, she sensed the one true thing she could call her own. Terror.

With a long creak, the door swung open reluctantly, unleashing a cold gust of recirculated air. Naja stepped inside, followed close behind by the face of a man who seemed vaguely familiar.

Naja approached the table, regarding Esmerelda solicitously. Without breaking eye contact, the girl spoke slowly, deliberately, as if brusque speech might cause some damage to her patient. "Ms. Plofufnik, I'd like to introduce you to someone in the Department. This is my colleague... erm, my uncle's colleague, rather... Remus Lupin."

At the name, Esmerelda blinked, her eyes darting searchingly toward the man on the other side of the cot. A boy's face jumped out at her from the depths of an unfamiliar memory. He had the same long thin nose, cleft chin, prominent Adam's Apple, warm brown eyes and short-cropped hair. But whereas the boy's had been the colour of sunlight on wet sand, this man's had streaks of grey. Yet, as he smiled, it was evident that he could not have been over forty.

"Hello, Esmerelda."

She blinked at him in silence until he shot an awkward glance to the girl at his side.

But at that moment, a name bubbled up to her lips and she surprised herself by uttering it.

"M-Moony."

Naja looked at Lupin inquisitively, but his eyes held Esmerelda's, translating his surprise.

"Hello, Esmerelda," he repeated. "How do you feel?"

I want to die, she thought. Yet what tumbled from her lips sounded oddly like, "Better. Thank you."

"Good." He sounded relieved and gently rested a fine-boned hand on her arm. "You had us all quite worried. But, I'm glad you're all right." Again that smile. His gaze hunted across her face searchingly. And for reasons she could not explain, an image flashed in her mind of a boy, bent over sickly, hobbling down a hill into the dense, shadowy curtains of a willow tree.

Naja's voice chased away the vision. "You have a visitor, Ms. Plofufnik. In my uncle's office." She nodded at Lupin. "If you feel able, Remus will show you the way."

The shaking of her head succumbed to a nod. It wasn't at all what she meant, but it just... felt better.

***

In the few minutes it took for Remus and Esmerelda to reach Alastor Moody's office through a series of identical, twisting granite corridors, Esmerelda was valiantly multi-tasking. She was preoccupied with walking. And trying not to faint. Or vomit. She even fielded Remus's well-meaning questions about her health, a few interjected queries about where she had been before her appearance at Hogwarts and avoiding his mute, but inquisitive, stare-a fragile barrier between her and the questions she either did not want to, or to which she did not have, the answer. She tried to keep her responses to the monosyllabic variety. Without being pushy, his curiosity unnerved her.

But she was grateful for his arm as it wound round her shoulders, steadying her in front of the low, worn wooden door bearing fresh watermarks across a few continuing wizards' education announcements.

"Are you all right?"

She managed a nod.

He raised his other hand and rapped sharply on the door.

It promptly swung open and the gruff voice of the ex-Auror sailed out jauntily to meet them. "Do come in, Remus. Ms. Plofufnik." The old man beckoned to them from behind his desk, setting his wand down next to an empty whisky glass. Esmerelda felt too faint to be alarmed by the large blue eye in the weathered face-even as it was rolling every which way and had at that moment tipped back into his head. Her eyes slid wearily around the room.

Across the shambolic office in a battered armchair sat Severus. He had been about to take a sip of the glass in his hand, but set it down immediately, forgotten on the table by his side, as his steady black gaze drifted to Lupin's arm round Esmerelda's shoulder. His eyes narrowed, glinting darkly. He didn't look happy.

Esmerelda, on the other hand, had never been so pleased to see anyone in her life. "Oh, Severus!"

Suddenly no longer fatigued, she gently withdrew from Remus's arm and rushed toward the Potions Master. They collided in a fierce embrace at the centre of Moody's threadbare kilim. His arms and hers, clutching, hands stroking, holding on for dear life. She drew back slightly and gave him a smile. This felt right. His hand cupped her chin, his thumb gently stroking her flushed cheek. His lashes twitched upwards and the black pools of his eyes filled with warmth and mirth, as he bent towards her, capturing her lips with his. Her eyes closed reflexively from the pleasure of the sensation she had feared she might never experience again. Another image surged forward from the shadow lands of her memory, of looking into the same eyes, feeling the tenderness, the awe of the same lips... in a spring garden surrounded by a crowd of cheering friends... while a tall man with long white hair presided over them with a twinkly smile...

After some lost moments, the whirlwind subsided and she became vaguely aware of someone clearing his throat.

The old man behind the desk shot the breathless Severus and Esmerelda a crooked grin that might have been frightening had it not been for the cheeky gleam in his normal and Magical eyes. The latter swiveled in amusement between the couple and the stunned face of Remus Lupin, transfixed in the doorway, his lips parted in shock.

"Come now, laddie," Moody said to Remus, "it's not every day a man is reunited with his long-lost-then-kidnapped wife."

Remus's eyebrows sprang up at the word "wife". A steady reel of unspoken questions trailed speedily across his face-Like tickertape, observed Esmerelda, her head slowly clearing.

"I... I'll... erm..." began Lupin awkwardly, his thin face taking on a rosy tint. "I'll just see to... that... uh..."

"Supplementary affidavit," supplied the old man, still grinning from his chair.

"Yes, of course." Remus looked grateful. Then, confused. "Supplementary affidavit?"

"That's right. Young Malfoy's just gone back to Hogwarts, but I was hoping we'd be able to get more from him once he's more relaxed in familiar surroundings. I want you and Diggory to head out there tomorrow morning." He raised his wand and smoothly levitated a pile of papers at Lupin. "Copies of Draco Malfoy's affidavit from this afternoon. Contact Madeleine Sassoeur at the French Ministry and see if you can find a recent blueprint of that Paris townhouse. We need to see all modes of access in and out, particularly those inaccessible to Muggles. Diggory knows to circle back here to see the two of us before you leave tonight."

Remus nodded, unable to resist sneaking another disbelieving glance at the embracing couple.

"Well, get on with you!" chastised Moody cheerfully. "Duty calls!"

Lupin straightened, nodded at them and disappeared down the corridor.

"I want to thank you for all your help, Moody," began Severus, "Esmerelda and I-"

"Are not going anywhere," said Moody, deftly sliding what looked like his Guanoflower Tobacco into a drawer. "At least, Esmerelda isn't, for the moment."

Severus looked dismayed.

"We're still awaiting her blood analysis from St. Mungo's. I'm afraid the Ministry can't release her until she's been cleared of any residual symptoms of the Unforgivables."

"Of course." The Potions Master nodded grudgingly. "But I would nevertheless like to have a few moments with Esmerelda."

"Yes, of course," agreed Moody obligingly. "I'm afraid I'll be needing my office, but if you two would like some privacy, you're more than welcome to use the wine cellar-" Esmerelda frowned. Wine cellar?-"It's just through here."

Moody lifted the lid on the trunk, which he hadn't had the opportunity to lock, and watched as Esmerelda and the Potions Master climbed awkwardly into the little chamber. "If it gets a wee bit draughty, there's a little fireplace in front of the couch there."

Esmerelda smiled up at the ex-Auror. "Thank you," she said.

"It's my pleasure. Now, as for me, it's Nature that calls," he said, mumbling something about too much Firewhisky. And with a parting wink at Severus, Moody closed the lid behind him, muttering a few wards. They heard the rustling of papers, a few drawers slammed shut and then the clunk! of his artificial leg as it faded into the distance.

In the soft orange glow of the torchlight, Severus drew Esmerelda against him, half-smiling contentedly as he cradled her in his embrace. She had had the impression before, and it occurred to her once again, that this was not an expression often seen on this man. Severus. The name she had called out in her sleep these past years-something she had remembered only recently in the presence of that serpentine creature, his lackeys and the blond youth they called Draco. In his arms, Esmerelda shivered beneath the thin fabric of the institutional robes.

Without pulling away, Severus drew his wand from his robes and pointed it at the hearth that came alive with the warmth of dancing flames.

"Better?" he whispered hoarsely into her hair.

She nodded, feeling her muscles relaxing for the first time in two days. She felt him draw back and was about to protest when he brought his fingers to her lips.

"I don't... expect you to talk about what happened. Not right now. I need only be certain that you're all right."

You're fine.

"I'm fine, Severus. I am," she replied, brushing her lips against his fingers, tilting her face up to his. "Really." She held his gaze until he relaxed, exhaling a long overdue sigh of relief.

"Thank Merlin." A whisper of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "You're really fine?"

She grinned, starting to feel a pleasant floating. "Never better."

Her eyes never left his, nor his hands her body. And she smiled triumphantly at the flicker of arousal in her husband's eyes as she molded herself expressively against him. He shuddered deliciously. Severus cleared his throat, as if to clear his head as well.

"Nevertheless, I... really should go. You need your rest," Severus said reluctantly. Her grin broadened. He was trying to be heroic, flustered and speaking fast as if a mass of words was all this knight had for a shield. "Albus has been very concerned about you as well and he'll now be wondering what's become of-"

"Severus. I don't want you to leave," came her gravelly whisper, as she felt her fingers teasing their way beneath the folds of his traveling cloak. It was again his turn to shiver. Her eyes darted playfully between the fire in his black eyes and the inviting velvet sofa. "...yet."

***

Remus Lupin was not a man to talk on corners. Being forced to keep his werewolf transformations a secret these past thirty-two years ensured that he kept well away from gossip himself. But he knew a story when he saw one. Esmerelda Plofufnik. Married to Severus Snape. Padfoot was going to howl at the moon when he heard that one. Sirius never did get over the fact that Esmerelda had agreed to a date with Remus in their seventh year while she had flatly declined-"spurned" was the word Sirius had used-his invitation to the Yule Ball.

He had easily procured the blueprints of the Paris townhouse and reviewed Draco's affidavit. No harm in stopping to use a fireplace for a minute. On the other hand, the entire building was under Loch Ness. Finding a fireplace in the subterranean DoM headquarters was no easy task. Unless you knew exactly where to look.

Just as he lifted his hand to knock on the door, Naja Moody swung it open. Seeing Remus, she flushed prettily, discreetly flipping over in her hand what looked like a letter, wrapped in the transparent protective coating of a Waterproofing Spell. As she nervously turned it over, he smiled as he caught the name "Alexander" written in large, loopy script.

"Hi, Naj," he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. "Just wondering if I might borrow the fireplace for a minute...?"

"Oh, sure," she breathed. He detected a note of relief in her voice. "I'm off to the sea serpent pen for posting, as I've missed the last owl post collection. Feel free. There's plenty of powder in the ashtray." She gestured behind her at a porcelain container on the mantelpiece.

"Thanks." He watched her back retreat into the shadows and slipped into the intern's office.

Throwing a handful of powder into the hearth, Remus enunciated clearly into the blue-green flames. "Sirius Black."

There was no response other than the scraping of a chair and the light clink of glass.

"Hey, Padfoot," he called, leaning closer to the empty fire. "Are you there?"

"Hi," came Sirius's voice as his head made its weary way into the centre of the flames.

Remus bent down excitedly, staring into the fire. Without the yoke of a Hogwarts professorship, he felt he could indulge in this one instance of regressive schoolboy behaviour. "Padfoot, I haven't got long, but I've just heard something you'll never believe."

"Don't tell me," Sirius said dramatically, raking a hand through his dark hair. "I can't take any more surprises."

Remus straightened a little, looking put out. "Oh. All right then," he said. "The next time I have some good gossip, I'll be sure not to share it with you."

Sirius arched a curious eyebrow. "You never gossip."

"That's right. Which would make you think if I had any interesting news to tell you, it might actually be... interesting, right? Well, nevermind. I've got a meeting with Moody in a minute anyway-"

"Oh, all right," succumbed Sirius repentantly. "What is it then? Spill. Only, please don't tell me that Snape's married to Esmerelda Plofufnik, because I already knew that."

"Oh." Lupin was now officially deflated, in an utterly juvenile sort of way. "You knew?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Moony," he sighed. "It's been hectic today, or I'd have told you. Then you could've joined me in a drink. Actually, you still can." Sirius held up a decanter of Laphroaig through the flames. "Would you like some? It's an excellent vintage."

Remus shook his head, dismissing the bottle with a little wave. "Thanks, Padfoot, but I'm still at work, remember." He sank despondently into a nearby chair and sighed, suddenly world-weary and melancholy. "Wow. Severus Snape. Married."

"Mmm hmm," said Sirius, pausing contemplatively to look at his friend. "So, why the doom and gloom?"

Lupin cringed a little. That his friend could read him so well after all these years apart was a little unnerving. And oddly comforting at the same time.

"It's nothing."

"Nonsense, old man," chided Sirius. "It's never nothing. And it's not even your time of the month."

"Ho ho ho," laughed Remus without much mirth. Sirius, never completely comfortable with his function as pop psychologist to the werewolf, was always ready with a handy joke.

Sirius grinned, despite himself. "All right then. What is it?"

"I don't know. It's a little... surprising isn't it?"

"Surprising," Sirius echoed. He snickered ironically, arching a dark brow. "You could say that."

But Remus wasn't laughing. He was feeling something he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge in the past few years. Loneliness. And later he would blame it on the late hour and a string of all-nighters at the DoM, but before he could stop them, the words were already out of his mouth. "Even ÎSlimy Git Severus' is married now... What's wrong with us?"

Sirius paused. His head tilted to peer into his glass, as if the answer were on the bottom. "Well, I was locked up for 12 years in a tiny windowless cell with only soul-sucking Dementors for company," he said finally. "What's your excuse?"

***

Moody was nowhere to be found in his office. But in the armchair previously occupied by Snape sat a woman waiting patiently and leafing through a few papers that looked like Draco's affidavit. Her dark green robes revealed just a glimpse of steel body armour and black Doc Martens. As Remus entered the room, she glanced up disinterestedly, her grey-green eyes passing over him with a closed expression, as if her mind were focussed on something else, somewhere else. A few errant curls of long honey-coloured hair escaped from where she had haphazardly pinned it back. She made no attempt to restrain them, just bit her lip and went back to the wad of parchment.

Remus relieved a little wooden chair of its files and folders, clearing his throat as he sat down a few feet away from her. "Remus Lupin," he said, extending his hand.

She looked up, blinking distractedly, taking then dropping his hand with a careless "Caro Diggory. Hi."

Caro. She was quite arresting in her own way, he thought. But only for a moment.

"Any idea where Moody is?" asked Remus.

"Damned if I know," she replied flatly, not looking up from her papers.

Remus blinked at her politely for a few seconds, in case she suddenly decided to converse freely, but eventually gave up and began making notes on the affidavit.

They sat in relatively companionable silence. Ignoring each other.

Until the noises started.

They seemed to issue from the large trunk on the floor between them. A low, muffled feminine moan, the slow, measured rocking of metal springs, a few gasps increasing in pitch, the feverish groaning of springs, more gasps, springs now wildly swinging, a Single Loud Gasp-almost a scream, more belaboured breathing, more rocking-urgent, faster and frenzied... until finally punctuated by a long, heavy, distinctly masculine sob.

The pulsing heat rose through Remus's face and he knew instantly that he was now the colour of his old Gryffindor tie. Involuntarily, his eyes shifted and met hers. He was alarmed to discover that the woman had been watching him, as if considering him for the first time. As a man. At that moment, Caro flushed a telltale vermilion, throwing her hands up to her cheeks.

They both sprang to their feet simultaneously, nervously averting their eyes. Moody's office was feeling suddenly too small.

"Erm... maybe get some... tea..." sputtered Remus.

"Just...check on...er... that thing..." sputtered Caro.

Then the awkward double- and triple-stepping dance of the man reaching the door a moment before the woman, each recoiling from the electric shock of the unintentionally intimate brushing of their arms. Remus stepped back at last, graciously allowing her to pass. And both leapt from the room fleeing in opposite directions down the corridor like scared young panthers.

***

Afterwards, completely spent, Severus was caught up in a pleasant floating. His naked chest quivering as his breath slowly returned, he felt the languid brush of her hand, tracing the line from his lips, down to his chin, across his torso and down, resting casually on his thigh. At that distance, even with his eyes closed, he could still smell her skin, vanilla, salt, heat and a musky fragrance that was uniquely hers, that he had conveniently filed away in the cavity of his forsaken happiness until last week. A whispered breath beside him now in that caressing voice and he was reliving the last few hours in his mind's eye. Firelight flickering along her body, pressed against his. His hand, traveling the once-forbidden distance of the graceful curve of her hips, down to her legs, lean and slender, peppered with fading bruises that his tongue gently explored as if to heal. Her dark hair forward, teasing his sensitive flesh, then thrown back as she moaned, her body glistening with the sweat of their labour, pinning his waist to the sofa with her naked thighs. Ragged gasps as his tongue lapped at her moist skin, mouth, the curve of her breasts, sex, thighs, her long neck, chin, and mouth again, eliciting a desperate moaning, thighs open again, begging for completion, an end that she needed, craved, and at the same time not wanting it. Ever. Seconds, minutes, hours passed and the end came crashing about them in one shattering climax, long and fierce by the light of the dying embers of the fire as he drove deep into the cavern of temptation, seeking the answer to the mystery of death and life.

Severus sighed, for the first time his smile lighting unchecked in the darkness. The rustle of discarded robes and a tiny draught of cold on his skin where she had withdrawn made him open his eyes. And only then did he see her trembling, the absolute terror in her eyes and the glint of the knife in her hand. A fraction of a second before it drove downward, swift and sure.