All of the sudden, his hands were trembling. He lowered them, wringing his wrists and shaking his head slowly, his hair as greasy and dirty as ever, but from a different sort of neglect. Severus had always been thin, but he looked like a walking skeleton, eaten alive by anxiety and paranoia for two years now. His dark eyes were sunk deep into their sockets and his skin was pale and grey, pulled taut on his face where his cheekbones and brow protruded like knives.
He took another step forward. “This has nothing to do with you or your… Condition…” His gaze rose to meet Remus’s, voice quiet but deliberate, as if he’d practiced this exact speech in the mirror a hundred times before. “… I’m not coming to you as an enemy… I want nothing from you except a-an open mind… Hear me out…”
But all preparation went out the window when he realized he was finally speaking to someone that might have an ounce - no, a drop - of sympathy for his situation. Severus’s fingers tangled themselves in his hair, eyes wide and half-crazed as he stood just inches from the other man. “Remus, they’re destroying me. The things I’ve seen… The things I’ve done… I’d take it all back if I could, every last second of it - by God I wish I’d killed myself when I had the chance -”
He turned on his heel and doubled over, covering his face. “Fuck. I’m not making any sense… I’m sorry…” Severus brushed his hair out of his eyes and slowly straightened up, murmuring, “My time is limited, I-I can barely think… They’re always watching me, listening to me… Did you know that you’re not safe even in your thoughts? They can hear you… They know!” He pointed at his temple, spinning around to face Remus as his body shook with fear and fatigue.
He stood there silently for a few long seconds before his brain caught up with his body and he realized what a raving madman he must have sounded like. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” came whispered from his lips again, and this time he seemed to finally get a grip on himself. Severus took a long breath, letting his eyes close for a moment before he opened them again, looking at his old classmate with a pleading expression. “… I want out. I need help. I will give you anything. Whatever will make you believe that I’m telling the truth.”
Remus knew it was only a series of fortunate coincidences that had led to him being here -- either that or the good grace of Albus Dumbledore who for some reason chose him of all the afflicted werewolves to grant his pity. Even with that fortune, he was still here, in a darkened corner of Knockturn Alley, preparing to spend a night on the streets. That was the life of a lycanthrope and what Remus had been raised for from childhood. Much in the same way, he knew, that others had been raised for a life of Dark Arts. Sometimes at school he had wondered how Severus Snape had got tangled in such a life. A half-blood, like Remus. Sent to muggle school for some time. Former best friend of muggleborn Lily Evans, now Potter, and defender of muggle biros. He had often wondered how much Snape had chosen his path and how much of it had been shaped for him the moment the Sorting Hat made its decision.
Like Remus -- how much had he chosen the life of the Order and how much was he forced into it by his sense of obligation to Dumbledore and the home he had found in Gryffindor?
He certainly couldn’t see why Snape would choose that life for himself, given the picture in front of him. He looked scared and desperate and like he had been taking even less good care of himself as he had at school. Remus doubted he looked much better. It had been over a week since his last shower, only charms to clean him and shave him in between. There was a dullness in his eyes, hollow from the horrors he had seen. His nails were unevenly cut and broken and caked with dirt. War had not been kind to anyone and though his instincts were screaming at him not to trust, to be as wary as he had been of everyone since childhood, there was a sympathy he felt towards the other man. Remus saw himself reflected in that sallow face and that was why he went against everything Moody had been telling the Order all this time.
“We shouldn’t talk here.” He knew Snape was right in saying they weren’t safe in their thoughts. Once, he had always applied Occlumency, as a twelve year old who had just learned about Legilimency and who was terrified of somebody happening across his condition. The habit had faded away with friends and trust and love and eventually the fatigue that came with war and the knowledge that none of the wolves he was surrounding himself with would ever break into his thoughts. He should have been more careful.
He practised to empty his mind and rebuild his barriers as he thought of where to go. Dumbledore was the obvious person to trust but Remus wouldn’t lead his mentor into a trap if that was what this was. Instead, he started towards Muggle London, digging through his pockets to see if any of the coins there were muggle pounds. He pulled out a twenty pence piece and a broken button. “Food’s out the question,” he muttered to himself, not expecting Snape to have any sterling on him. “We’ll go to Victoria Embankment. It should be busy enough with muggles this time of night that nobody will notice us.”