McKay (scribbulus_ink) wrote in time_of_storms, @ 2006-08-22 03:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | chronological, snape |
October 11, 1997
Original poster: black_cauldron
Music: Waves of Sorrow, by Jerusalem Syndrome
Severus had originally thought that any real "relationship" with Lupin would no doubt end badly, with intense pain on someone's part, most likely his own - he just hadn't counted on the circumstances ending up being quite so literal about it.
He didn't remember much about returning to Voldemort after having been the instrument of Remus' punishment, and in retrospect he wasn't certain that he wanted to. His defenses must have been running on automatic pilot, and he undoubtedly gave all the expected answers since he wasn't detained for long after his report on what happened. Actually Severus wound up having to say very little for himself; Greyback had been quite pleased to recount the tale, embellishing both his own exploits and Severus' in a predictably self-serving manner. If Severus had been able to feel at all he would have been sickened, so perhaps it was just as well that every emotion seemed to have curdled and died inside of him, leaving him empty of everything save his own self-loathing.
At last he had been dismissed, and Severus had Apparated back to his hole in the ground, which felt more like a prison than ever, and empty, so desperately cold and empty. Blind to everything, he had stripped off his robe, tossed aside his mask, then had run for the bathroom, where he had proceeded to be violently sick, retching again and again and again, as though his body were trying to rid itself of a festering sickness, denying the part of himself which had been forced to act in such hate.
Unfortunately the heaving emptiness of his body had done nothing to purge him of the true poison in his system, nor had standing under a scalding hot shower until his skin had begun to parboil like leech in one of his potions managed to clean him of the filth he felt for what he had had to do. He had barely noticed the pain, hadn't noticed dressing himself or walking back into the sitting room, where he had sat down on the sofa and proceeded to... wait.
He wasn't certain what he was waiting for, really. Forgiveness and absolution from either himself or an outside source - he couldn't bear to even think Remus' name - would not be forthcoming. Not this time, when his hand hadn't been driven by an Unbreakable Vow. His failure to save Albus played over and over in his mind, alongside the images of Remus writhing on the ground in screaming agony. It was an odd juxtaposition, viewing two different men over the end of his wand; one old, one relatively young. One weakened and weary of life, the other standing with proud resolution. Both of them believing in him. And him failing them both.
Shuddering, Severus forced himself to relive every moment of the torture, a form of punishment for his inability to save Remus, even though doing so could never in a million years atone for what he had been forced to do. Even if Remus had begged, pleaded, Severus should have denied it, should have grabbed his lover and run away, leaving everyone else to fend for themselves, just as he and Remus had been left all their lives. After all, what glory and honor was there in the suffering he had put Remus through? Was the price really worth paying for a victory that was uncertain, for people who hated Severus more than they hated Voldemort himself? He held no illusions, after all, about his place in the world. Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Tonks, Alastor... they would all like to see his head roll, right along with the Dark Lord's.
And the way things were going, they might actually get their wish.
Severus closed his eyes, letting his head fall back on the sofa. Lupin had trusted him, depended on him. He had expected Severus to find a way out of torturing him, to avoid inflicting the punishment, but Severus had been irresolute, and he had failed. And then there was that word, the word Severus loathed now more than any other in the English language. The word he never, ever wanted to hear again, for any reason, from any lips. To do so might just drive him mad.
"Please...."
A cold shiver went down Severus' spine. He had been used again, like an angel of Death, to inflict pain and suffering on the only person he truly cared about. The second time didn't make it any easier to do, it only made the guilt and horror even worse and much, much harder to bear.
He couldn't do this again, he knew that now - to do so would destroy him completely.
I could just leave, walk away from all of this and leave it behind me. Make a new life somewhere like South America or Africa, somewhere no one would ever find me. I could even fake my own death, so that they wouldn't even think to look for me at all. Nothing is worth this. I don't owe them anything, and Albus is dead. What does it matter to him, now?
Even as he thought the words, though, Severus knew that running away wasn't something he could do. He had paid too much in pain and blood not to see this through, no matter what the outcome. It wasn't a matter of what was brave, or true, or even what was right. The fact was that this was Albus' war, and Remus' war - no matter what happened to him, he owed the both of them for his failure. Whatever the cost in pain, in blood, in the loss of Severus soul as it was stripped from him, piece by torturously tiny piece, he must pay it. It was his lot in life, and the die had been cast against him a long, long time ago. He was destined to lose everything he loved, and so it was better never to love at all.
Pain twisted inside him. Remus wouldn't be coming back, not ever again. Whatever he felt for Severus, it wouldn't stand up to what Severus had done to him. Even though Lupin had begged for it, he would no doubt blame Severus anyway. Why wouldn't he, after all, when Severus blamed himself?
If by some miracle he does come back, I have to send him away. For his sake. For my sake. If I am going to be able to make it through this war, to play my part, I can't afford to live with the fear of having to hurt him again. It was foolish to become involved with him in the first place, to give in to the physical desire, to let it become... too much. Too important to me. To have let anyone... him... actually matter to me. I am a weapon, a killer, and that is all I will ever be. It was a weakness, and I was wrong to have started it. It would be even more foolish to continue, if he decides for some idiotic Gryffindor reason to try to forgive me. Enough is enough. No matter what happens, that part must now be over.
The part of him which held his unspoken feelings for Remus cried out in protest, but he silenced it ruthlessly, walling it away behind a shell of icy numbness. He was a tool, an instrument, and therefore he must act as mechanical as the role demanded. Love was a weakness he could ill afford.
Love, he reflected bitterly, was much harder than death. At least in death the pain would eventually cease.