RETRO FEST FIC: Recovery Position, NC-17, 3-4/12
Title: “Recovery Position” Author: undun Rating: NC-17 Pairing(s): Severus/Remus, Severus/other Challenge: lupin_snape Retrofest Summary: Retro Fest Prompt 44. OotP era- "Moony, you alright? I heard you groaning and--CHRIST! Shit, Moony, sorry, I didn't rea--wait...is that SNAPE?!" Disclaimer: This is a non-profit creative work and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights held by Harry Potter creator/s. This work constitutes transformative, non-profit use of copyrighted material. Warnings: Drug use in Chapter 2, self-medicating drunkenness, and general thick-headedness throughout.
Notes: I owe a huge debt of gratitude to some awesome betas, who have helped me whip this story into something coherent. Starting with Resonant about 4 years ago, and in recent weeks _lore (of awe-inspiring awesomeness); she very gently bullied me into finishing this story in time to submit for Retro Fest. You will notice the story is not the neatest fit for the prompt, but the opportunity to participate was too seductive! Last minute hand holding and critical appraisal was provided by psyfic, who I want to be like when I grow up. Any further furfies you see are my own and no one elses. A huge thank you to our Fest organiser, scribbulus_ink for this event!
Word count: About twenty-six and a half thousand all up.
“Recovery Position”
3. “Barking Mad”
I suppose I must have dozed off again as I awaken to the sound of a fist pounding on the outer door of my quarters. I feel truly horrid.
“Moony! Are you in there?”
I still have enough self-control to stop myself from leaping off the bed – even in my enfeebled state I estimate that I could hex Sirius Black into next week without really trying.
“Shhh! Keep the noise down, he’s asleep.” Not any-bloody-more, he isn’t.
I hear the wooden door closing. Not the satisfying clank of my old dungeon chambers, just the dull thud of an unpainted new door hitting wooden doorjamb. The staff quarters have been given priority in the rebuilding process, with local stonemasons and builders volunteering their time and expertise. I suppose I should feel more gratitude in the face of their unpaid efforts – but I so crave the dark, and it’s not a problem for which they seem inclined to find a solution. I make do with drawn curtains, day or night. One day I shall dig a very large hole.
“I don’t know! They say he’s not himself.”
Black’s raised voice is discernible in my bedroom. His tone is anguished. Normally this would give me some gratification, but in this instance, unfortunately, it gives me a feeling of unease, as it no doubt involves one resurrected teenaged wizard of our mutual acquaintance. I stumble to the door and open it.
“What’s this about Potter?”
“Severus,” Lupin says in a soothing tone, “Try not to worry yourself. If it were a serious problem he wouldn’t be permitted to travel.” I look at him steadily. He’s humouring me, isn’t he?
“Lupin,” I grind out with admirable control, intending to get to the bottom of the problem, serious or not, with Potter – but, inevitably, Black interrupts me. His reaction to seeing me being handled with kid gloves is predictable.
“Do you fucking mind, Moony? It’s only my fucking godson we’re talking about here! If there’s any tea and sympathy going ‘round I think I merit a serving first.”
If I were capable of laughter, I think I would definitely be laughing at this moment. What a twat. However, he might be persuaded to tell me about Potter.
“What has happened to him?” I enquire. Black is so very disgusted with his comrade’s behaviour that he’s willing to entertain the notion of talking civilly to me.
“He, ah, apparently, lost his memory,” he mutters in reply. Yes, of course. Otherwise he would have fetched up back here months ago, instead of remaining undiscovered amongst a bunch of orange-robed ascetics, chanting and contemplating his navel all day. Typical.
“Does he know who he is now?” My tone is a touch waspish. I believe I don’t give a stuff.
“Um, he knows his name, but has no idea what it means. No sense of his past or his identity. At least that’s what they’ve told me so far. They want him to go straight to St Mungo’s, to start treatment for amnesia.”
“Bloody quacks. They’ll probably pump him full of Restituo and wonder what the fuck is going wrong when he starts spouting his past history as a slave at the court of Ramses II.
“That’s very bloody reassuring, isn’t it?” Black whines in protest.
“Reassuring you is not in my job description, unfortunately; I would so love to provide you with the support you deserve, Black. Lupin, however, is very talented in that field, I’m sure that he will not mind in the slightest taking you back to your quarters for a little chat.” I turn hopefully to Lupin to see if my ploy has been successful. Am I to be free of my shadow for even a short time? He is smiling at me. My guess is not.
“I’m not so easy to cast off, Severus. You’ll have to try a damn sight harder than that.”
“Damn you, Lupin!” I think I might be a little stressed. He’s still smiling at me as he takes my elbow and turns me towards the bedroom door.
In a pointless show of independence, I shake off Lupin’s hold and stalk back to my bed. Or I try to. I am a few feet from my bed when a feel an irresistible urge to purge my intestines. And so I do. It lasts forever. When it finally stops I am convinced that I will see my own eyeballs looking up at me when I look down.
I really don’t want to look down.
I hear a cleansing charm take care of my unplanned decoration on the rug, and then it feels like I am being lifted. Strange sensation.
“What was that all about?”
“He’s going through withdrawal.”
“From what?”
“Morphine.”
“What the fuck!”
“Shhh! He’s been on morphine since Voldemort fell. Just pull the covers up off the floor, will you?”
“But why? Oh.”
“Yes. Harry.”
“Merlin’s manky jockstrap. We need to talk about this.”
“What, you and me?”
“Yeah, we need a plan for when Harry gets back.”
“Sirius, he won’t bother Harry. I doubt he’ll want to be anywhere near him at all.”
“No, no – that’s not what I meant!”
“Shhh! What then?”
“Harry’s gay.”
“He’s gay? And you think – what exactly?”
“He’ll go for Snape of course!”
“SHHH!”
I nearly jump at the sibilant sound echoing in the room, in my head. Voldemort has started instructing his serpent. I must have drifted off during a meeting! “Forgive me… my Lord…” I hope he’s feeling mellow, another Cruciatus could carry me off.
“It’s alright, Severus. Go back to sleep.”
A warm hand strokes my forehead. It’s very soothing.
“Why would Harry go for Severus just because he’s gay? He didn’t before.”
Is that Lucius and Rosier? So is Avery touching me? ‘S very nice. “Mmmm…”
“He wanted to.”
“What stopped him, apart from being a student?”
“Well, there was the fact that as a student he didn’t think Snape would consider it seriously, and he felt too young to be with someone his father’s age – an opinion which I supported strongly, while stressing that Snape really didn’t like him in the slightest. But besides that, he just couldn’t handle the fact that Snape still had a Dark Mark.”
“And now he doesn’t–”
“Yeah, and Harry won’t remember any of their history as student and teacher.”
“I see.”
“Moony, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I begin to see the problem.”
“Yup. We need a plan.”
“You may be right. Severus is in no condition to deal with this right now. Just let me see if he’ll take some chocolate and then we can go sit outside.”
“Okay. Oh, you know something? Harry’s got amnesia, maybe he’ll have forgotten that he’s gay!”
“Sirius–”
“I’ll wait outside.”
Someone is trying to choke me, trying to force something down my throat. Not more Veritaserum! I cough frantically, trying to dislodge it.
“Severus! It’s just chocolate! Bloody hell!”
There is a wrenching feeling down my gullet and the obstruction clears as if by magic. Actually I think it is magic – of the field medicine variety. My throat feels raw.
“Here, suck on this now.” It’s Lupin trying to force-feed me again. I decide that the path of least resistance just might be the best way for now. I suck and chew on the square of chocolate he has placed in my mouth.
Actually, I feel better. “Thanks,” I dribble.
“Don’t mention it. We’ll be in the sitting room. Get some sleep now, Severus.”
I nod as much as I can with my head glued to the pillow.
“Goodnight.”
The door closes softly. It is so beautifully dark.
*** *** ***
4. “Messiah Dude”
Oh, for pity’s sake! Why can’t they leave him alone? Lupin keeps staring back at me from amongst the fawning throng. No, you stupid man – I am not going to press through the mob to tearfully embrace him. Get a grip, man.
He looks… different. Not just six months older.
Well for a start the scar is gone, his most obvious identifying feature. No wonder it took so long to find him. Without that scar, how can he be seen to be any different from any other pale-faced, dark-haired, green-eyed, perfectly-proportioned, alluring… oh, shut-up, do.
Apart from that though… What is it that seems so very unlike him? I believe it is the smile. It’s not infectious, it’s not mischievous, and it’s not frightening (and there were a few of those near the end – as if he knew he’d go down fighting and was determined to take every last Death Eater with him). It is quite calm – almost meditative.
Nothing is ruffling him. Why the hell not?
Lupin finally stalks over to me. He looks like a man with a mission.
“Severus?”
“What do you want, you stupid creature?” He appears surprised by my demeanour for an instant, then he simply smiles in that irritating way that he has.
“Come and say hello, Severus,” he says softly. Does he think that speaking gently – and he usually does, the twit – will somehow make me do his bidding?
My feet are moving.
Potter steps away from all the fawning Weasleys and suddenly I am confronted with–
“And you are Professor Snape?” He holds out his hand. I have taken it in my own before I realise it. It’s warm.
“Yes.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” Has he ever called me sir before? Voluntarily? I remember ‘greasy git,’ not ‘sir.’
“Pleasure, Mister Potter.” The social niceties must be observed. He inches closer and it’s only then that I realise that our hands are still clasped warmly. Dear Merlin. I snatch my hand away with a shudder.
“I understand that I will have to stay another year at Hogwarts in order to finish school, that is…” He looks uncertain for the first time. “… if my memories are recoverable.” The smile he gives me looks a little ragged. So, not invincible then. I find it somewhat reassuring. All that smooth calmness was damn well intimidating.
“I’m sure something can be done for you, Mister Potter.”
“Please, call me Harry.” It makes me wonder what they called him in Tibet – Little Budda? He must have given himself away to the locals with his tendency to levitate whilst meditating. One isn’t supposed to actually do it.
“Yes, H-Harry. Well, if you’ll excuse me,” I begin to disengage myself from him, becoming aware at the same moment that the crowd around us has been silent the whole time. I’d forgotten they were there.
“Professor,” he stops me with a note of anxiety in his voice. “I understand you are the Potions master?” I nod my head in agreement. “Do you know anything about this?” He holds out a small bottle – where the devil was he hiding it – with St Mungo’s labelling on the side. Not bloody Restituo, please! I take the bottle gingerly from his hand.
It is.
I draw a deep breath, feeling light-headed as the oxygen hits my bloodstream. What to say? Feed it to the cat? Sprinkle it on the vegetable patch? It would do far more good there. Something more politic is called for. Being an undercover spy all that time made me aware of when not to speak my mind, I suppose.
“It has been helpful for some sufferers of amnesia, I believe.” I can’t help it, “But I wouldn’t set too much store by it, Mist… Harry. Snake oil, in my opinion.” I push the bottle back into his hand, preparing to swirl and exit, at which I am a past master. He stops me again, damn the boy!
“Is there anything that would help, sir?”
I very much wish he hadn’t asked me that. I am cataloguing ingredients and recipes before I even blink. Damn!
“Perhaps.” I escape before he has the chance to take a breath and ask another bloody question.
Lupin follows me into my quarters. He has learnt not to open the curtains. I head straight for the sherry and pour myself an overgenerous amount. “Help yourself.” I mutter at him.
“Thank you, but it’s a little early in the day for me.”
Pious piece of shite.
“Well, that went alright, didn’t it?”
“Go fuck a dog, Lupin.”
“Don’t hold it all in, Sev. Tell me how you really feel.” He has the audacity to laugh. I think I’ll kill him.
“Don’t call me ‘Sev’, it makes me feel Slavic.”
“Sorry,” he rasps. After a moment, “Are you going to be okay?”
I hold my empty glass out to him, “I’m going to get slightly more than soused on cheap sherry,” I declare as he fills my glass again.
“I’ll be back after supper – don’t lock me out.”
“I’ll leave the catflap unlatched for you.”
I’m mortified when he strokes my shoulder before leaving. A raspy “take care” drifts into my room.
Fuck him. Fuck them all. I want my hypodermic.
*** *** ***
“–’king hell! He may not be an addict anymore, but he’s well on the way to becoming a wino!”
“Help me get him on the bed, Padfoot.”
Wha… The room is spinning.
“S-stop.” If I ask it nicely it just might stop spinning. For a minute. I just need a minute.
“Oh, stuff this! I’m putting him under the shower.”
Who, me? Not on your life, Black. Or death – whichever is appropriate. Black Death – hahaha! I wriggle when the arms reach around to drag me away.
“Padfoot, this could be a bad idea.”
“Nonsense. Just what he needs to sober him up. Hold still, you silly git!”
“Wha’, so y’ can drown me?”
“Ah, good – you won’t drown if you’re awake.”
I can hear the taps being turned on. I’ll just wait here for the water to heat.
“Get up, Snape!” I do wish he’d be quiet – I was having a nice kip. Rough hands. Cold, cold water!
“Merlin-on-a-stick!” I try to crawl out of the shower but he’s holding me in. Shite! “Black…” I blink water out of my eyes furiously, “You’re first on my dance card when the homicidal rampage s-starts.”
“Let him out now, Sirius. He’s much soberer now.”
Is that even a word? “Brilliant, fucking brilliant. Look at my bloody robes, you overgrown testicle!”
“Yeah, that’s sober alright.” He steps back as I swipe hopelessly at my robes with the towel.
“Here, let me help you, Sev.” Lupin tries to pull my outer robe off. It is sticking as only a very wet robe can. My hair is soaking wet and keeps trickling annoyingly down my neck.
“Don’t fucking call me that!”
“Sorry,” he murmurs, then manages to extricate me from my wet robe. “Sirius, why don’t you go make a nice pot of tea?” The oaf obliges by shambling off like a good puppy. I think I’ll kill him.
“What the hell was he thinking?” I practically scream at Lupin when the door is closed behind Black.
“This probably qualifies as one of those times.” he answers me obliquely. Too obliquely.
“What?”
“One of those times that he doesn’t think.”
“Prick.”
“Mmm-hmmm, but lovable in his own weird way.”
Lovable?
“Lupin,” Dare I ask him about his preference? He and Black have been joined at the hip, apart from Black’s time in Azkaban, for as long as I can remember.
“I lean both ways.”
Fuck. And just how did he know what I was about to ask him?
*** *** ***
When I have my circulation restored and emerge from the bathroom, Black is no longer in my quarters. Thank the stars. Lupin hands me a hot mug of tea and I sigh gratefully as I sit in my chair and sip it slowly. I look at the empty sherry bottle on the table. Bugger and damn! Did I really put all that inside my body? I look across to Lupin where he sits on the small settee. How not to talk about it?
“So, who else knows about your deviant sexual practices?” I take another sip of my tea.
His face creases into a smile and he chuckles softly.