snupin_mods (snupin_mods) wrote in lupin_snape, @ 2010-06-15 23:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | exchange: remix |
Snupin Remix: Story Gift for Mayachain (Ms_Jv_Shuh)
Title: Paper, Scissors, Stone, Well
Author: Remixed Not Stirred
Rating: PG
Warning/Disclaimer: Ignores Book 7. The characters aren't mine, and in this case, neither do the plot or setting. Some lines of dialogue were taken directly from the original fic.
Summary: At the end of the war, Remus has choices to make.
Notes: ~ 1600 words. This is a remix of ms_jv_shuh (mayachain)'s To the Victor Go the Spoils. My thanks to her for letting me put her fic on my turntable for a spin, and to the fest mod for both her patience and her matchmaking. ^_^
At the end of the final battle of the war, Remus's first conscious act had been to find Harry and congratulate him. As soon as they'd exchanged their see you laters, Harry shuffling away to the next person calling his name, the last of Remus's adrenal reserves had abruptly deserted him, both body and mind informing him, We're done. We've done our job and you're still alive, so don't ask anything more of us until you've slept for a week.
As a result, a full five minutes had elapsed before Remus finally registered the fact that there was blood all over his hands. It was only then that he realized how much his hands hurt. Guess I won't be playing "paper, scissors, stone" for a while, he thought to himself. Then he smiled, faintly, at the sheer inanity of the thought.
It was a game he had played in various languages over the years. He'd first learned it as "hick, hack, hock" from his mum, and an aunt had taught him to chant "ro-cham-beau." As an adult, he'd played it with a German colleague who'd called it "schnick, schnack, schnuck," and she'd taught him a fourth move called "the well," where "paper" covered the "well," and "well" had the capacity to swallow up both "stone" and "scissors."
Life was tricky like that: it had a way of sneaking extra dimensions into things you'd grown up thinking of as simple and straightforward. Sometimes you were fortunate enough to be forewarned, in situations such as passing the time with a bored German spy; Ulrika was as sneaky and devious as any double agent worth her salt, but she had a marked penchant for playing fair when it came to anything outside of her job. Too often, though, life liked to ambush you with its complications, such as making you figure out on your own that you are gay. Such as making your matchmaking friends persistently and willfully oblivious to the fact that you are gay. Such as making you learn the hard way which friends were traitors and which ones only appeared to be.
Remus frowned down at his hands. The literal blood on them wasn't all his own: it had been a spectacularly messy battle by any set of standards, and Remus had gotten sprayed both by people he'd killed and people getting killed around him. He'd also gotten scratched by flying splinters of wood and shards of headstones -- nothing life-threatening, but some of the gashes had gone deep enough to ooze blood. Remus had patched himself up after so many transformations that the motions had become near automatic -- clean wound, conjure bandage, repeat -- but he was now so exhausted that he managed them only for a slice above a knee and a slash across an forearm before he gave up. Everything else would have to wait until his brain felt less like blancmange.
As he tucked his wand away, Remus noticed bits of dried blood flaking off his hands. He knew that he ought do something about cleaning them, but in his current state, he felt it would be simpler just to scrub them under a tap once he got himself off the battlefield. From what he could tell, it wasn't as if anything or anyone around him was in much better shape: the smoke from scorched trees was still unfurling across the cemetery, and the ground was littered with the debris of broken bodies and shattered monuments. Paper, scissors, stone, Remus thought to himself: it was going to take more than snap decisions and hasty spellcasting to clean this mess up properly. He would be praying for everyone's sake that Wizarding Britain's leaders stayed stubborn and principled enough to choose the right solutions over the easy ones. After all, he was himself an expert on how choosing "easy" over "right" led only to heartbreak and self-loathing.
But speaking of stubborn and principled -- Remus's heart leapt as he caught sight of Severus Snape being tended to by Neville Longbottom. Scissors cuts paper, but paper covers stone. Neville was calmly and deftly bandaging Severus's hands, Severus staring at his former pupil with the expression of a man stunned by one too many surprises. Whether it was from Neville's demonstration of competence or the fact that Neville hadn't hexed or arrested him on sight, Remus couldn't tell.
Or maybe it was just sheer fatigue. Apparently feeling pudding-brained hadn't affected Remus's ears: in spite of standing a good distance away, he was able to make out Neville's questions to Severus. He watched Neville follow Severus's gaze to track down Draco, and then watched Neville determinedly limp over to Draco and plant a kiss on him.
A kiss that went on long enough for Remus to override his body's protests and limp his own way to Severus's side. Rock crushes scissors. Pain be damned, he would never have a better chance to speak to Severus than now, right now, and that knowledge was enough to propel his unwilling body step by excruciating step toward the other man.
It wasn't going to be enough to manage a kiss, though. There was no way he could currently manage the kind of show Neville and Draco were putting on, and he was not about to give anything less than his utmost where a first kiss with Severus was concerned. He didn't need to offer the man any more reasons to think of him as weak and pathetic -- and, also, he wanted to be in better shape to defend himself if he'd completely misread the signs that Severus would welcome such an advance. During the year before Dumbledore's death, there had been tiny hints and miniscule cues that Severus had thawed towards him -- not that Severus had ever been wholly indifferent, but it had felt as though they were finally getting beyond their overlapping histories of ghastly mistakes and colossal errors of judgment. And once the shock of Dumbledore's death was past, Remus had continued seeing glimmers of hope in his glimpses of Severus's double-dealings. Like each of the elements in "Paper, Scissors, Stone," every single action Severus had taken as a fugitive could be interpreted through multiple, opposing lens: Was a murder an act of pure evil or one of reluctant mercy? Was his mental torture of a captive Order member an act of self-indulgence or a desperate ploy to relay information back to 12 Grimmauld Place? Scissors cuts paper. Paper covers stone... Remus had chosen to keep faith in the best possible scenario, and following his lead, so had Neville and the rest of the Order. And here they were, now --
"If I were twenty years younger, I'd do that," he sighed, awkwardly sinking onto the ground next to Severus. Severus's gaze remained fixed on the two boys, but a sudden flush of color had blazed itself across on his cheeks at Remus's words.
Severus looked physically drained, but his face was alive with rabid curiosity. Inwardly chuckling to himself, Remus leaned in closer and whispered, "Want to know what they're saying?", fully intending it as a rhetorical question. Of course Severus wanted to know what Neville was saying to Draco. Remus himself wanted to know what Neville was saying to Draco. Insatiable curiosity had served them both for good and ill -- last week's besetting sin, this week's survival skill.
"...I really can't make the excuse that I don't dare to... because, well, hey, we won the war!"
Neville was babbling. Draco was kissing him back. Severus was almost smiling. Remus bit his lip, feeling even more vexed with his damn body. How was it possible to want someone so much, and yet to feel too much like hell to do anything about it? Even talking was turning out to be an effort: he was doing little more than breathing words into Severus's ear.
Still, Severus hadn't actually said anything back to him yet --
"If I were twenty years younger, I'd do that," Remus insisted, as much out of sudden panic as conviction. Say something. Anything. Even telling me to fuck off --
"You would?" Severus mumbled back.
He had never seen Severus sound or look so fragile -- not even minutes earlier, during Neville's ministrations of first aid. Not at any time at Hogwarts, as a teacher or a student, or at any meetings of the Order.
It was Remus's turn to babble, and to shake -- which made him all the angrier at his body, because he didn't want to sound uncertain, not now, the last thing Severus wanted or needed right now was someone with feeble intentions. Once again, Remus cursed his fucking, fucked-up body. Of all the times to feel too sapped to kiss somebody --
"Oh," Severus said. He sounded as disappointed as Remus felt, and unsure -- and that single, hollow syllable was like the sound of a stone dropping down, down, down to the bottom of a well. Remus couldn't bear it -- it was so Severus and yet not Severus at all. He'd known there were untold depths to Severus -- the man was scissors, stone, and well all at once -- and he'd never seen Severus so quietly vulnerable. Let me be paper to you, Remus silently pleaded. Let me catch your edges, let me absorb what the world tries to throw at you next--
Aloud, he simply said, "So now I'll just do this." Ignoring the stinging pain in his fingers as he flexed them, Remus slid them into Severus's hand. Through the dense, potion-soaked layers of gauze, the pressing back of Severus's fingers was so muted that Remus almost thought he could be imagining it.
But the flare of delight in Severus's eyes was not muted at all, and it did not fade. And Severus did not let go of Remus's hand, not even after Neville and Draco finally helped them off the battlefield.
End