Omni (omni_sama) wrote in lupin_snape, @ 2008-01-10 01:55:00 |
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Current mood: | sleepy |
Entry tags: | fic: pg13 |
fic: "Card 13 Means Change" (PG-13)
Er. Yeah, so this was not what I thought my first Snupin fic would be...
Title: Card 13 Means Change
Author: Omni (aka rip_von_christ on lj)
Rating: PG-13 (possibly just PG)
Pairing: Severus/Remus, implications of Remus/Tonks
Summary: Severus had thought Remus understood. Perhaps he had been mistaken...
Disclaimer: I own not the characters used. I do, however, own the words thus written.
Warning: Death and DH spoilers
Notes: I started this a while ago, but left it to rot on my computer because I found it too sad to type. But then the first-time (as in theirs) fic that I had more recently started ended up running me into a wall, so I brought this up to play with until my creative juices were flowing enough to continue the other piece. Three hours later, I have this...which is far more happy than I ever imagined it would be. It's also about twice as long as originally intended... Also, it has had no beta-ing. I tried to catch what mistakes I could, but I'm very sleepy. So, if you do happen to spot anything, please let me know.
He knew it was asking too much. He knew that.
…Didn’t make it any less painful.
Severus sat down heavily at his desk and glared. He glared at the scrolls of parchment, at the quills, at the paperweight, at the books…at a man who wasn’t present. Something twisted inside him, the pain a familiar one. Just because something was familiar, however, it did not mean that it was any less potent. If anything, it felt sharper, more pronounced than ever. It was also accompanied by a strange combination of sinking and spinning that made Severus have to swallow back the bile rising in his throat. Damn Remus Lupin, he thought, damn him.
Of all the Order members, Severus thought that Remus would have at least thought everything out before jumping to the conclusion that Severus was a murderous traitor. Especially considering everything that Remus knew about Severus that the others did not. This disappointment in Remus was not, however, what currently plagued Severus. No, the painful, nauseating twisting inside him was a product of some news he had overheard at tonight’s meeting.
Remus Lupin was a father.
It was bad enough to be doubted by Remus so easily; bad enough to hear that he had married that clumsy child who was nearly half his age… But to hear that Remus had fathered a son with her… It made him want to retch.
Bellatrix and Narcissa had been upset over the news as well, mostly because it was bringing more shame upon their family name by having their niece pop out a werewolf cub. Several of the Death Eaters found quite a bit of enjoyment that evening poking fun at them and watching Narcissa retreat deeper into her melancholy shell. Severus had not let on that he was fazed in the slightest, sneering at the juvenile mockery and departing back to Hogwarts in a flurry of black. It was only once he was alone in the Headmaster’s office that he allowed his mask to slip off and his pain to take hold.
Remus had claimed to understand, once upon a time. They had kept what they had a secret out of necessity. “To protect you,” Severus had explained, eyes intense and expression determined.
Smiling, Remus had brushed Severus’ hair back and allowed his fingers to linger. “I know. And also to protect you.” When Severus had tried to look away, Remus’ fingers had curled around his chin, halting his movement. “It’s fine. In all honesty, you’re far more valuable to the cause than I am. God, Severus… What you do… I’d never have the balls for it. You’re incredible, you know?”
“No. I’m not.” He had pulled free of Remus’ grip, yet did not try to look away again. “I simply do what I must.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Their eyes had locked for a few seconds before Remus broke the connection and lowered his gaze.
“I do. There are things you must do in order to maintain your position. …In order to stay alive.” After letting out a sigh, Remus had looked back up at him, golden eyes just as intense as Severus’ had been moments before. “And I know that no matter what it is you do, you do it for the cause. Sometimes the ends truly do justify the means.”
It had been Severus’ turn to lower his gaze. “Just remember that,” he had whispered. “Remember that…”
Obviously, he had forgotten. So, yes, Severus knew it really was too much to ask that Remus remember. Hell, their entire affair had been asking too much from Remus. He could only imagine what kind of strain their secret relationship must have been for the man who hated secrets yet had to maintain so many of his own his entire life. It must have been painful. It must have been tiring. No wonder he jumped at the chance to have a happy, open relationship with a young and beautiful witch. That was such a vast improvement over the stressful, hidden relationship with a caustic, unattractive wizard. So what if Remus had repeatedly insisted that Severus was more than attractive? So what if Remus had laughed at Severus’ snark and claimed to find his acerbic wit charming? Either those were lies, or merely not enough to ensure Remus’ devotion.
“Why so down, Severus?” questioned a kindly old voice from over his shoulder. “What happened at the meeting?”
He did not even spare a glance back at Albus’ portrait, his eyes glaring harder at nothing and his lips pressing more thinly together. The last thing he needed was to see the look of concern which was undoubtedly present on the painting’s animated face. Part of the anger bubbling inside Severus was fueled by Albus, after all. If the conniving old man hadn’t pressured him into assisted suicide masquerading as murder, then Remus would never have come to hate Severus. There would have been no Tonks-Lupin union. Most certainly there would be no little bouncing baby boy to serve as cooing, crying, shitting proof of consummation.
“Severus?” Albus’ portrait prompted again after minutes ticked by with no response from the brooding man. “Severus, what is wrong?”
“Remus Lupin is a father.” The words tasted foul on his tongue, and he summoned a glass and bottle of wine to help wash the flavor away.
Another tense silence fell over the office before a very soft “oh” escaped from the painting. Severus had never told Albus of his affair with the werewolf, but somehow it did not surprise him to learn that the dead wizard had known. Very little escaped Albus. Very little was hidden from him, despite the use of occlumency so strong that the Dark Lord himself could never break it. “Are you certain?” the portrait asked, almost hesitantly, which certainly wasn’t Albus’ style. Had Severus been better able to concentrate, he would have noted this abnormality, and how it seemed as if Albus was confused in a way Albus never was. As it were, however, Severus was incapable of concentrating on anything aside from the pain and anger and sickness.
“Of course I’m bloody certain!” he bellowed in response, spinning in the chair to look at the image for the first time that night, and having just enough wits left about him to not throw the full wine glass.
The painted Albus raised one hand as a gentle command for Severus to calm himself. It was such a familiar motion that Severus had to look away again, glaring at the glass of wine. “I only ask,” began the portrait in a patient, soothing voice, “because I did not think it even possible.” Severus’ head snapped back up at that, staring at Albus’ image with wide black eyes as hope—that evil little worm—burrowed its way into the writhing mass of emotions within him. Once he seemed to have Severus’ full attention, the illustrated wizard lowered his hand, and paint did its best to depict a familiar twinkle in bright blue eyes. “Lycanthropes have never been documented as ever having children, Severus.”
Was that all? Severus’ eyebrows crushed together low over his dark eyes. “What does that have to—”
“Even though there have been many lycanthropes who have married, whether it be to fellow lycanthropes or to those not afflicted,” the portrait continued, cutting Severus off and raising his own white eyebrows to cast the man a significant look.
Severus’ jaw clicked shut as the information sank in. “Never?”
“Never.”
---
Severus really did not have time to dwell on pain or—heaven forbid—hope. As the days went by, he dedicated himself to watching over the children while maintaining the appearance of a “bad guy.” It was a thin line to walk, but it was one he had been striding confidently along for years. No one on either side suspected. No, of course not. Minerva would scowl at him with contempt whenever she thought he could not see; the children who were against Voldemort either feared or loathed him; the Death Eaters respected him; and, of course, the Dark Lord himself still held him as his favorite.
He was growing tired, though. Tired and sick. At times he thought he understood some of how Albus must have felt, towards the end. Severus was not yet forty and he already felt like an old man.
And then…it happened.
The war exploded out of the shadows where it had been dwelling, and thrust itself into the open, using the school as its battleground. He had escaped before the chaos erupted, fleeing before he was cut down prematurely by his ignorant allies. When monsters were fighting children, however, he had returned. In all the bedlam, no one noticed who his curses struck. No one saw who he saved. Hell, no one even realized he was there, unable to take the time to distinguish him from the other black-clad figures despite his obvious lack of hood and mask. Or so, he had thought… But the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and a strange flip-flop sensation happened in his belly, and he found himself turning to lock eyes with someone across the wild fray.
Golden eyes. He was much too far away to truly be able to see their coloring, but he had gazed at them enough times in the past to know their exact shade and the breathtaking way they could catch the light.
For a dizzy moment he thought Remus was going to run to him, or he to Remus. Instead, they both seemed frozen as if petrified. From this distance he could not read the subtle expression within those eyes. Remus was a very difficult book to translate, composed of a complex language that Severus had spent the majority of his life trying to crack.
“Severus!” It was not Remus’ voice, and it was coming from Severus’ left, so he slipped back into his role and made as if he were about to hex someone off to the right. “Severus!” the voice called again, more urgent and accompanied by a tug at his shoulder. Turning, Severus came face to face with Lucius Malfoy—the man’s once elegant features injured and worn. “The Dark Lord wishes to see you. Now.”
As he turned to follow Malfoy, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. With a surreptitious glance, he watched as a young witch with purple hair rushed towards Remus. Bitterness became a rock in Severus’ throat which he could not swallow. No time for this, he chided himself as he pushed through the throng, no time.
“He’s in the Shrieking Shack,” Malfoy yelled above the cries and crashes, yet he made no move to accompany Severus beyond the school. One eye swollen nearly shut, Malfoy’s good eye kept glancing back towards the fight.
Understanding, Severus grasped Malfoy’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Go. Find him.” A single pale blue eye regarded Severus, allowing gratitude and relief to peek through the fear and concern. Without another word, they parted, one dashing into the fray and the other rushing out towards the edge of the wards.
When he felt the subtle brush of magic that let him know he was free of the wards, Severus was delayed from disapparating by the sight of something silver glimmering on the branch of a nearby tree. The battle in the near distance became a dull hum to him, drowned out by his heart pounding in his ears. A silver raven stared down at him, cocked its head to the side, and then said with a voice that belonged to a wolf: “I remembered.” It then leapt from the branch in order to take flight, melting away with every graceful flap of wings.
Severus allowed himself several seconds to compose himself. Oddly, there was still a great deal of pain and nausea, even after the patronus’ revelation. He realized, with a short, bitter laugh, that the cause was now different. What did it matter? What hope could he possibly have now? Even if Remus never really betrayed him—even if Remus never doubted him… What did it truly matter? There were no happy endings in Severus’ foreseeable future. Hell, he smirked, there was likely no future.
The pain and nausea resulted from fear, he realized. He was afraid to die, now that he knew he actually had something worth living for. They were also a result of regret, he knew. So much time wasted. So many years sacrificed to this cause. So much happiness he never allowed himself to have.
Enough of this. It was time to end things. Gathering his cloak about himself, Severus disapparated to the Shack. He would do his best not to dwell on Remus, even though it would be damn near impossible there. More important things must take priority, however. Things like helping Potter fulfill the damn prophecy. He hoped that when Potter finally killed the Dark Lord, it would be a slow, painful death.
---
Staring down at his motionless body, Severus amended his previous wish: he hoped that when Potter killed the Dark Lord, it would be agonizingly slow and excruciatingly painful. But, knowing Potter, it would likely be a bizarre twist of luck and the wrong spell used at the right time, which would somehow result in Voldemort’s attack backfiring. The Avada Kedavra was not nearly slow and painful enough for Severus’ liking. Still, dead is dead. With any luck, Voldemort would end up someplace where vultures would continuously devour his entrails, or where he’d have to endlessly push a boulder up a steep hill. One could only hope.
He was not certain how much time passed as he stood there, unsure of where to go or what to do. The world appeared to exist in a mist, with only vague impressions of the Shack’s interior surrounding him and the dulled-out image of his body sprawled out at his feet. There were no sounds. Nothing moved. It was…disconcerting.
“This is a strange place for you to be.” At first he did not recognize the voice, until he realized that he had heard it before, when he was much younger.
Had he a heart, it would have raced as he turned to find Remus standing there in the murky room. But…no, wait. Something wasn’t right. There were no scars, no wrinkles, no graying hair. Remus stood there looking young and handsome and so much more than Severus ever deserved.
“I don’t know where to go,” Severus heard himself say. It wasn’t what he thought he wanted to say. Then again, he wasn’t entirely certain what he wanted to say.
Remus nodded, and a strange little smile tugged up at a corner of his mouth. “I understand.”
“Do you?”
Golden eyes locked with his, serious and warm and sympathetic. “I do.” Déjà vu struck Severus, and his brows came together in confusion.
“I think you just might,” he conceded, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “Something isn’t right, though. Why are you here? Did I dream you up?”
Without answering, Remus walked over to a window, though there was nothing outside to see. “I saw Harry a moment ago,” he said instead of responding.
“Oh?” Severus felt silly, which frustrated him. What was even more frustrating was that he did not seem able to maintain any level of frustration. All he could do was just stand there and stare at Remus’ back and wonder “What now?” over and over again.
Shaggy brown locks bobbed with a strange slowness, as if suspended in water, as Remus nodded. “I think it must be nearly over, if it isn’t already. He thinks he’s going to die. What do you think?”
“That was Albus’ plan, I believe…” Severus frowned. He had hated that plan. Where was Albus now, anyway? Was he someplace misty, someplace with vultures, or was he sitting and laughing with Plato?
“Was it?” Remus’ voice was soft, distracted. Severus suspected he wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation, which was odd considering Remus was the one maintaining it.
Severus let things grow silent again, not wanting to dwell on this issue. After a while—seconds? minutes? hours?—Remus turned to face him again. “Did you get my message?” he asked, golden eyes searching Severus’ face for something, causing Severus to wonder if he’d find it.
“I did.” He tilted his head, not unlike the raven had earlier. “Why marry her, then? Why have a child?”
“It’s complicated.” The golden eyes slid away, but when they fell on the corpse, they quickly shut tight.
“I have time. I think,” Severus paused, looking around, “I have endless amounts of time now.”
Remus’ laugh was such a sudden and unexpected thing that it startled Severus. “True. But, shall we relocate to somewhere more…” Remus stared at Severus and raised his eyebrows. “Pleasant?”
“Where?” Severus asked dumbly, unsure he was even able to move from that spot.
Smiling, Remus walked around the corpse and hooked Severus’ arm with his own. “A place for heroes that die bravely in battle,” he said with a grin as he leaned in to rest his chin on Severus’ shoulder. Despite knowing he was a spirit and therefore immaterial, Severus could swear he felt warmth radiating through his body from the points where Remus made contact.
“Will Black be there?”
Oh, how he loved that little smirk of Remus’, as rare as it was. “Perhaps.”
“Not sure I want to go, then.”
With a gentle laugh, Remus pulled at his arm until he took a step away from his body. “It won’t be that bad. Lily’s there, too.”
Had he lungs, Severus would have been breathless. “Lily? Is she— Does she—”
“She can’t wait to see you, Severus. Do you really think she doesn’t know who’s been looking after Harry all these years?” Remus coaxed him a few more steps.
“You’re sure?”
As much as he loved the smirk, he adored that large, genuine smile infinitely more. It now shown even more brilliantly on that youthful, unscarred face. “Positive.”
As he allowed himself to be led, the foggy impressions of the Shack faded away. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all, he thought. Remus was there, and somehow Severus knew he wasn’t just a dream. Death didn’t seem to be the scary oblivion he had thought. Nor did it result in everlasting torment for him, where he would be forever deprived of the few precious people he loved.
For the first time in over a year, Severus felt himself smile.
The End
(as much as there ever can be one)