Current mood:	melancholy
Entry tags:	fic: pg13, holidays: snape's birthday

Snape's Birthday ficlet: 'Alone' (PG-13)
Title: Alone
Author: snegurochka_lee
Characters: Snape/Lupin
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~1,250. I fail at drabbles. :/
Content: Well, my SnuSa stories this year were both relatively angst-free, at least by my standards, so I thought I'd better rectify that here. In spades. :)
Summary: Lupin was always shit at Legilimency; Snape never needed to fear that Lupin would breach his mind. That did not keep him from practicing daily, however, in order to be ready for the day Snape was certain was coming, the day Lupin would walk back into Snape's life and train those pleading eyes on him once more.
Notes: Written for the Snape's birthday (Jan. 9) ficlet challenge. My prompt was "Occlumency." Also, just so I might one day finish the damn thing, let's say it also fits my 100quills table, in which I attempt to fill in missing canon moments. This one is for prompt #37, "Alone." The rest of my table is here.
Sorrowful soundtrack: Pearl Jam, 'Immortality'

Alone

by Snegurochka

*

Occlumency, Snape had once told Potter, was not a brute exercise in simply splitting open a mind and reading it like a book. There were nuances involved, layers and fabrics to be peeled and woven. Both an art and a science, those skilled in this particular brand of magic and its partner, Legilimency, had undergone years of training to become proficient at it.

It required constant practice, continuous upkeep. To gain true mastery of the skill was to be perpetually exhausted, alone in one's mind and determined to maintain that fortress of solitude from attack – either from without or within.

Lupin was always shit at Legilimency; Snape never needed to fear that Lupin would breach his mind. That did not keep him from practicing daily, however, in order to be ready for the day Snape was certain was coming, the day Lupin would walk back into Snape's life and train those pleading eyes on him once more.

"You might have told me, Severus. God, what do– what am I meant to do now?"

"If you were in such a hurry to marry, Lupin, my telling you anything would not have changed it."

"Would not have– are you joking? Are you– is this your idea of a joke? It would have changed everything! It's too late now. It's too– God. I can't– I just–"

"Go home to your wife. You cannot come here anymore. If you could not wait one bloody month for my explanation, then I will not wait another day – another hour – for yours."

During those first few months Snape had spent occupying the headmaster's office, he had stayed up late at night to practice shielding his mind from Lupin's eventual assault. Hanging his robes delicately over the back of his office chair, he would roll up his sleeves, unbutton his collar and confront his own reflection in the ornate mirror Albus had hung on one wall. Narrowing his eyes until the figure in the mirror blurred around the edges, he would wait for Lupin to make his attempt, wait to endure Lupin's insistent tapping at his mental defences, as crude and relentless as the man had always been.

"Let me in, Severus. Let me explain," he imagined Lupin muttering to himself, squeezing his own eyes closed and trying through sheer force of will to cover the physical distance between them and insinuate himself into Snape's mind. The fool. Legilimency did not work that way; Lupin should know better.

Nevertheless, Snape would feel the pulses in his mind and become aware of Lupin's exasperation, regret and sorrow sliding down Snape's barriers like egg yolk lobbed at a steel wall. Snape would clench his fists and breathe shallowly through his nose, grinding his teeth and manipulating all the energy in his body into a single tight coil. "Get out," he would whisper fiercely to his reflection, the memory of Lupin's face – soft eyes and parted lips and light brown lashes dusting across a cheekbone – burned in the back of Snape's mind.

By January, Snape was satisfied that his daily exercises were keeping his mind in top shape. His conversations with the Dark Lord, the Carrows and even impossibly heroic Gryffindors like Longbottom or Weasley hardly taxed him anymore. The array of memories and desires that floated through his mind remained locked tight within a solitary fortress. Lupin would never gain access to them now, no matter how pitifully he might beg.

Snape was safe.

On the evening of the 9th, weary of war and desperate for a glass of wine, he decided to forego his nightly practice session in front of the mirror. Instead, he laid his robes aside as usual, rolled up his sleeves, unbuttoned his collar and fell into a wide armchair that had always been much better suited to Albus than him. If Lupin came calling tonight, his beastly, idiotic mind attempting to probe Snape's, then Snape would be ready for him.

But perhaps, just for tonight, Snape might let him in.

He took a gulp of cheap wine and winced at the acidity, letting his head fall back against the chair. Why didn't you wait for me? he would ask when Lupin showed up tonight. Why did you believe the worst instead of trusting me? They were embarrassing questions, emotional and charged and not at all appropriate for Snape to ask, but he was tired of it all, and he wanted some damn answers.

He let his mind drift back to his previous birthday, when he and Lupin had managed, through much expert manoeuvering, to meet at a stale hotel in east London. Lupin had smiled as he'd pulled a flattened chocolate cupcake out of his pocket – miniaturised but not magically shielded from squashing, the idiot – and inched it up to Snape's mouth. He'd coaxed Snape's lips open with light kisses first, backing away with a smile on his face and a twinkle of mischief to his eyes, and then he'd popped the blasted tiny confection onto Snape's tongue before Snape could protest. As Snape had chewed, tamping down a smile despite himself, Lupin had swept his index finger lightly over Snape's bottom lip, gathering a stray trace of icing and sliding the finger into his own mouth. The sight of Lupin's finger pushing between his lips like that had caused Snape's body to pulse heavily, and he'd immediately grasped Lupin around the back of the neck, kissing him soundly and walking him backwards to the dingy bed before shoving him down and straddling him, barely breaking the kiss. Lupin had only laughed, the sound quickly turning to a low groan as he pulled Snape on top of him.

The glass of wine fell from his hand now, and Snape started. He blinked, breathing hard, before he realised that indulging the memory had prised his mind wide open. The sensation was strange; he touched two fingers to his forehead in an attempt to hold onto it, if only for another few seconds. So this was what it would feel like, he marvelled, to be free all the time. The coil unwound, the fortress laid bare, he experienced a tingle of magic circling around his skull and dipping down his spine.

"Now," he whispered, his fingers curling around the arms of the chair. He closed his eyes. "Dammit, Lupin. Come to me now."

His chambers echoed with silence, a rush of air pounding in his ears.

"Now," he muttered again, his voice raspy, but he already knew.

The silence lingered a moment longer, and Snape felt the bleeding wine seep through his trousers and into the trembling flesh of his leg. The memory of Lupin began to char around the edges, and Snape sensed the freedom of indulging it turn from energy to misery in his veins. Lupin wasn't coming. Not tonight, not ever again.

Sucking in a fortifying breath through his nose, Snape narrowed his eyes and focused his mind once more, rebuilding the barriers and locking down all his remaining memories and desires.

Occlumency was not a crude exercise in simply laying open one's mind and allowing another to read it like a book. Snape should know better, and as he rose from the chair and headed to bed, he berated himself. There were nuances involved, layers and fabrics to be peeled and woven. Both an art and a science, those skilled in this particular brand of magic and its partner, Legilimency, had undergone years of training to become proficient at it.

It had never been Lupin's strength.

Snape turned down the torches and slid into his cold bed, alone in his mind once more.


-fin-




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