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Remus Lupin. Naked. Chained. Waiting for me. One of my hottest fantasies. In front of me. But now it's my biggest nightmare.

I hadn't seen him for at least a year, when he had disappeared into self-exile at the end of the school year. Now it is summer again, time for Voldemort to call his Death Eater gatherings again, testing our loyalty once more.

I stand in my hooded robes, as Lord Voldemort unveils our sport for the night. His unpleasant laughter echoes throughout the clearing as he explains that he thinks some of us have gone soft, and he intends to remedy that tonight. In one hour, the moon will be full, and he can test his theory that silver bindings will prevent a werewolf from transforming, making him even more aggressive and dangerous when finally released. He thinks it will be useful to him. I wonder how he managed to catch Remus; I had thought he was far from here, in hiding with Sirius Black. Evidently not. The thought of Black makes my anger rise. During the year that Remus spent at Hogwarts I had been forcefully reminded of my feelings for the werewolf, ones that had grown while we were schoolmates. Not that I had ever told him; I was much too shy, and he was a Gryffindor, and Black was always nearby, guarding him jealously. I would never have told him of my feelings. He would have told Black, and my shame would have been all over the school in an instant. Sirius Black and I had hated each other, even before the time he tried to kill me. I had only been concerned for Remus. Which, of course, was why I fell for the trick that almost got me killed by Remus himself. Any tender feelings I had had been destroyed in that instant of betrayal. Only later did I begin to accept that Remus probably had nothing to do with it. But by then the damage was done. I couldn't look at any of them again without trembling with rage and shame. That bitterness drove me to finally accept Lucius' offer to join the Death Eaters. I fit right in; I had enough anger for all of them. Then, I began to realize the enormity of what Voldemort had planned; and I grew up. Became a spy for Dumbledore, and the rest is history. Well, not quite. Voldemort was still alive, and I was still a spy. Which is why I am here, now, facing the man I had wanted all those years ago, and still do. What a twisted chain of events.

Voldemort's voice brings me sharply back to the present. I tear my eyes away from the tragic yet appealing vision of the werewolf in chains and focus on the Dark Lord. It would not do to become too distracted. If there was a way to rescue Remus, I would do it; but at the expense of my position as a spy for the side of good? I am torn. I must pay attention; Remus' life and mine as well could rest upon my actions. No matter how delicious those muscles look, straining against their bounds... against my will I feel my body respond to the sight. Either Remus' body has filled out over the past year or those robes had always disguised a truly magnificent body. Lean muscles bunch with the effort of trying to break free. Sweat runs down a nearly hairless body, rivulets tracing intricate paths that my tongue wants to follow. I force myself to keep my eyes above his waist. I do not need to be distracted while Voldemort stands before me.

"There are those who have spent too long away from my power," the hideous man hisses, his voice reminiscent of the snake he is at heart. I wince, knowing he means me. I hate these little tests; yet I must endure if I am to keep my trusted position. I know Voldemort likes to taunt me more than anyone; he is waiting for me to make a mistake, yet he doesn't want to lose me as a follower unless he is sure. The number of Death Eaters has dwindled, and he can't be too choosy. Yet, he still exerts his control as much as he can, and I have no doubt that he chose tonight's sport with me in mind. He keeps testing me, hoping I will fail, but I will not. I have done many unspeakable things to stay in the dark lord's trust. I regret them, yet I do not; but tonight's test may be my undoing. For as I look upon Remus, I feel the stirring of emotion I tried to exorcise years ago returning. Not just lust but more; this could go badly for the both of us.

"Tonight we will test my new theory," the malevolent voice goes on, grating my nerves. "but I intend to go one better," he added. "To provoke the werewolf, to anger him further, while preventing the change will, in my estimation, make the resulting creature much more violent." My heart sinks as I start to fathom the depths of Voldemort's depravity. I suspect that beatings, easily healed, are not all I am to supply to antagonize Remus. And sure enough, the voice goes on, "Severus! Step forward!" I try not to see the way the chained man's body stiffens at the mention of my hated name. He had to have been expecting my presence, knowing as he did about my shameful actions in the name of good. I am hooded, yet he must have known there would be a chance I would be there. My desire is tempered by the fact that I must disgust him. Yet I must do as Voldemort bids, at least for now. Or I will lose my position of trust and quite possibly my life, and he will just have someone else do the deed. Lucius, probably. I will not let that happen. I step forward.

"Yes, my Lord."

"You will do what I bid," Voldemort hissed. I nod. "Whatever I wish," he confirms. I nod again. There is nothing else I can do. Then, the fateful words. "Take him."

No, Voldemort doesn't say "rape him," or anything so crude, but I know what he means perfectly well. I've seen it happen before. Done it before. I am not proud of this. But I do not object to such an act before all of the circle. I cannot. I cannot even hesitate, for hesitation can mean death, or worse. I know I am being tested, he knows I know Remus. May even suspect I always wanted him. Which makes it all the more perverse, this task he has set for me. I respond. "Yes, my lord." The only possible response. An evil chuckle is the only answer, and I step closer to the chained werewolf. My body responds once again, betraying my lust though my mind reels with shame. At least I will be physically able to perform the act without the use of magic; my erection already strains against my pants. I sicken myself yet my heart is already racing. Spy for the good, yet I do not doubt that I am as vile and disgusting as any of Voldemort's minions. One more step, and I stand before him.

I hear the rustle of anticipation behind me, as the Death Eaters watch with vicarious delight. I hate them, but no more than I hate myself at this moment. My eyes are fixed on the ground, and I can smell him already; sweat and musk and Lupin's own scent. I am no werewolf yet my sense of smell has always been highly sensitive. My arousal pulses with each beat of my heart as I raise my eyes, letting them feast upon my captive. Nearly hairless, lean and toned, suntanned and sleek skin meets my eyes as they travel upward. He is not aroused, but my eyes linger on his sex anyway. Further up, over flat stomach and hard pectorals, broad shoulders just brushed by honeyed brown silk; he has let his hair grow longer. And up, strong chin, full lips, to meet finally golden brown eyes that stare up at me, trying to penetrate the shadows of my hood.

"Severus?" his dry voice barely whispers, with a note of what could be hope. Eyes look bravely up at me though he is chained naked before the most evil of beings imaginable. My heart leaps at his courage and I curse my weakness once again. I must do this, must; for I would die without Voldemort's punishment if I had to watch someone else take Remus.

I reach up and push the hood back, just a little; so the wolf can see the predator that waits for him. I know this is allowed, the Dark Lord loves to heighten the fear of his victims; a nameless fear is less evil than the known, in his estimation. I stare down at him, trying not to flush as he searches my face. His eyes show disbelief mixed with resignation as he confirms my identity.

"I'm sorry," I mouth at him, my voice whispering out the words fully without my intent. His eyes widen as he understands; part of me hopes that he does understand, that someday he will forgive me, as I can never forgive myself.

I cannot hold that frank gaze; those eyes I once waxed poetic over in my own mind are too much for me to meet. I drop my eyes, and I hear his voice again, so low I think I must have imagined it. "I'm glad it's you," he says. Before my eyes jerk upwards in astonishment, I almost imagine I see his cock twitch against his leg. It cannot be; I meet his eyes; they have gone blank again, but as my eyes drop to his cock again, I see the now unmistakable swelling that tells me all is not as it appears. I move, shielding Remus' body with my own; if Voldemort sees his victim is not in agony, he will devise a more appropriate torture.

"Get on with it," a snarling voice cuts into my thoughts; I am taking too long. A muttered spell adjusts the bindings and spins the werewolf around so his back is to me and the watchers; safe, they can no longer see what I can. Remus is nearly fully hard, I can smell his arousal. My own responds in kind, moisture gathering. I hold back a moan.

I jerk open my robes and unzip my pants; the rustling covers a quick, rudimentary lubrication spell. It is the best I can do; Voldemort would not stand any preparation. I hope Remus is ready. I know I am. I close my eyes as I pull out my dripping cock; I pull back on Remus' hips with my free hand as I kick his legs apart. He is forced to bend, his chained forearms resting against the wooden pole in front of him. I hope this does not hurt him too much, but I can hesitate no longer. I spread him open with one hand, then plunge in. Searing hot tightness grips me as the lubrication makes entry slightly easier. But gods, he is so tight; I force my way in as he cries out. The crowd cheers its approval at my rough entry; I would regret it if I was not drowning in the most intense pleasure I have ever felt. I bury myself to the hilt; Remus trembles around me and my heart starts to break. I have hurt him, though I have tried my best not to. Then, a miracle happens; subtly, not enough to be noticed by our audience, Remus is pushing back, trying to impale himself even more fully on my aching erection. Could he truly like it? I bend over, under cover of starting my rapid thrusting rhythm, and I can see his arousal bob underneath him, undiminished. Lust surges through my veins, even hotter; he wants it, he wants me, the impossible has happened. I think no more; gripping his slim hips with both hands now, I plunge in, faster, unable to repress my groans.

Death Eaters cheering me on, I fuck Remus Lupin; my impossibly hard length drives in and out of his body repeatedly, savagely. He turns his head slightly, so only I can see, and mouths, "More." I can do nothing but deliver as the madness of desire takes control of me. Only in my most fevered fantasies did I think this would ever happen to me; I growl like the beast Remus will soon become as I mark my prey. I see the silver chains cutting into his skin cruelly; my need rises higher as the blindness of climax approaches. Remus must like the rough treatment; he cries out now, and his body tightens around me. I can feel his climax, see his hot seed issue forth without so much as a touch from me. It is the final push over the edge; I cry out now, gripping those hips hard enough to bruise, and ram myself as deep as possible inside the werewolf's body. It is over; molten heat courses through me and I come, filling Remus, over and over pulsing deep inside that body I so long desired.

Stillness, silence greet me as I pant for breath; with the last of my energy I clean away the evidence of Remus' pleasure with mine. He sags against his chains, all of him limp once more; sweat drips profusely from him and blood runs from his wrists. Yet he looks up at me, a quick smile for only me, before he sags again. Any more attention to him will unmask me, so I cover myself once again and turn to my audience. Voldemort nods his approval, walking slowly around the werewolf as if to inspect my handiwork. Possessiveness rises within me, shocking me with its intensity, even though the rational part of my mind knows full well that my Lord cannot perform any direct sexual acts. The many curses he has undergone have robbed him of that; perhaps this is why he forces others to his vile bidding. Still, to see him so close to Remus raises my anger; I bite it back. There may be a way to rescue him yet.

Voldemort speaks. "I think that will do," he hisses, glancing up at the moon as it inches towards full. He walks away from Remus without another thought, bidding us on to our next sport. I glance back, wanting only to free him, but alas I cannot. I follow Voldemort, cursing him silently.

Later, much later, I lie awake in our rudimentary camp where Voldemort insists we stay the night. I wait for my chance to sneak away, to see Remus and I hope to free him. Finally, the last wretched Death Eater drifts off in a drunken stupor, and I extend my senses to make sure the Dark Lord is asleep as well. Not that the creature he has become sleeps as such, but his consciousness has fallen to the level of rest, and I take the chance.

I detest sneaking around, but I tread as lightly as possible. I dare not use any magic now, as Voldemort may sense it. One glance at the moon tells me I have little time left. The clearing seems farther now, as my pounding heart tries to escape my chest. I know full well that if I am too late and Remus has begun his transformation, friend or no he will rip me limb from limb. Part of me suggests it a fitting punishment, a blessed relief, but then another part of me suggests I may wish to live another day, if only to assure the werewolf's escape.

Then, there he is; twisting as if in agony, low moans of distress reaching my ears across the clearing. I creep forward, and his eyes are on me instantly; he has managed to turn himself around and is trying in vain to free himself. The silver chains must sap his strength; but what I don't know is what will happen when he transforms. I imagine Voldemort will want to witness it; no doubt he will wake from his slumber soon, appearing any moment. I indicate silence to Remus; his eyes grow wide as I approach.

"Severus!" he whispers roughly... "What... never mind, you must go! You are in great danger!"

Foolish Remus, concerned for me when it is his life at stake. I fumble in my pocket for an old fashioned lockpick; the risk of using magic is too high. I shake my head and concentrate on the lock; sweat runs in an unpleasant trickle down my back. Finally, the mechanism gives; the lock springs free and the chains pool on the ground at Remus' feet. He stares at me in disbelief.

"You saved my life, Severus," he whispers quickly. "If I had begun to transform, the silver would have burned me like acid, and I would have probably chewed off my own paws to escape." I shake my head; I hadn't known that. Nor had Voldemort, apparently.

"I'm so sorry..." I begin, but Remus cries out and interrupts.

"You must go. Now. The moon..." I look up, and the clouds are clearing, and the moon... is full. I look at Remus and his outline is shimmering, as if I cannot focus properly. "Go!" he snarls, his voice beginning to change, and I run. I stumble into the trees, wanting to look back but not daring, and suddenly I feel the unmistakable tingle of magic. Voldemort has apparated in the clearing, wanting to see his handiwork. I hope Remus can defend himself, as I cannot hope to best the Dark Lord's power. I have done what I could; I pray it is enough. I run as fast as I can, subtlety thrown to the wind, and emerge in the campsite. Everyone appears to be still asleep. I long to flee, but if Voldemort returns and finds me gone he will know. I dive into my sleeping bag, trying to calm my breathing, as an unearthly howl filters through the trees. Remus...

The wizards around me begin to stir, the sounds waking them. They look around for the source of the sounds and call out for their Lord. A crashing, a growling, and between the trees appears a huge brown wolf; no natural lupine was ever that big. My heart freezes; I know it is Remus, but I am still in grave danger. I know that werewolves cannot control their actions once they transform; only if given the right potions, and unless someone else has been brewing it for him, Remus has been without the Wolfsbane Potion for nearly a year. Only a few wizards know how to brew it, so chances are the wolf before me is fully an animal. He lowers his head and sniffs the air; the foolish Death Eaters scream and try to run. The wolf springs, taking down one wizard and tossing his body around like a doll. I look around frantically; there is nowhere to go. Perhaps I will get my wish after all, to die by Remus Lupin's hands. Or teeth. I stand still, frozen to the spot, and Remus roams the campsite. The dying wizards scream for their lord to save them, but Voldemort doesn't appear. I try to edge away; then the wolf pauses, turning his great head to look directly at me with those golden eyes. I freeze. He pads closer still, growling under his breath, muzzle bloody from his hunt. I can smell him; agonizingly, faintly, I smell Remus under the wolf smell, and the familiarity stabs me in the heart and causes my cock to rise inappropriately.

The wolf stops in his tracks, staring at me almost quizzically; then he comes closer, and I cannot even breathe. Facing down a werewolf, about to die, I am still aroused. Reality begins to blur and I prepare myself for death. "Remus," I breathe, and close my eyes to accept my fate. I feel the wolf's hot breath on me; then he is gone. Gone.

I cannot bring myself to open my eyes; I sag to the ground, gasping for air since I have forgotten to breathe. I open my eyes, and look around; no sign of the wolf. Only bodies, and blood; I count at least three corpses and the rest of the dark wizards are wailing like children. I shiver; what has happened is not possible, but I am alive. Alive to face another day of fighting Voldemort. Perhaps not as much as a blessing, but I do what I must. At least I hope that Remus is still alive.

Voldemort returns, finally, with no explanation of his whereabouts but no apparent injuries. Also, no new suspicions toward me as he treats me no different than usual. The meeting is disbanded and we are bid to return to our lives. Until the next time the dark mark calls us.

Days later, I am back in my dungeon, reliving the past few days, wondering if I dreamt them. A knock at the door of my chambers. I frown; no one would disturb me here. The students have not yet returned, and if Dumbledore wanted me he would summon me through the fireplace. I stalk to the door, unamused, and fling it open.

Remus.

Haggard, pale, dressed in rags and covered with dirt and blood. He staggers forward, into my arms. I catch him and hold him, unbelieving.

"I'm sorry," he rasps, and falls unconscious.

My Remus.