undunoops (undunoops) wrote in lupin_snape, @ 2011-01-08 00:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic: r |
Fic: And Sometimes Darkness, part 1, SS/RL, R
It's reposting month and I'm reposting a story, but only just. I've already posted the first 5 chapters on my journal, but the rest will be seeing the light for the first time. The story is complete, but is going through a final edit as I post it up.
As usual, this has been lurking unposted on my hard drive for about 3 years. Apologies for any AUness this causes. ;-)
Title: And Sometimes Darkness, part 1
Author/Artist: undun
Rating: mature/adult content, R
Pairing(s)/character(s): Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Nymphadora Tonks, Harry et al.
Summary: After the War against the Dark Lord, some are left behind. Not forgotten by everyone, as Severus Snape finds out.
Disclaimer: Not-for-profit fan creation.
Warnings: I hate warnings. There may be unpleasant stuff in here. There, that’s it. Anything else would be a spoiler.
Notes: A story that didn’t begin its life as an AU, but is now certainly in that category.
Words: this part 1,774
1. Flesh and Torment
The man didn’t look right, sitting there, placid and unmoving. Uncaring.
Remus shifted unconsciously in his seat. He stared at the figure closely, his eyes lingering where the robes covered the man’s lower body. Remus studied the man’s profile but could gain no further insight into his state of mind; it was as if a Severus Snape-shaped manikin had been placed before the Wizengamot.
With one or two inaccuracies.
Remus grimaced at his own black humour. Again, drawn like magnets, his eyes dropped to stare at the space where Snape’s legs used to be.
Remus was separated by some distance from the rest of the crowd, as befitted someone seen as an untrustworthy werewolf rather than an acknowledged hero of the war against He Who Must Not Be Named. He accepted the judgement, not that he had much choice really; since the war he’d lost the urge to fight for anything, even his own rights.
Severus Snape’s state shouldn’t affect Remus so much. He should be used to physical disfigurement by now – quite apart from his own monthly interpretation of it, there were more than enough disabled survivors of Voldemort’s attempt at world domination to make him familiar with such a condition. Indeed it bothered him not one bit to be faced with the grim evidence of the war they had eventually won. He had sympathy for those so injured, but more than that he felt proud of their sacrifices.
But not Snape’s. Snape had not suffered his disfigurement in his struggle against Voldemort; he had been hexed by Aurors some hours after Voldemort’s fall. In the aftermath of the hexing the band of aurors had stood firmly united in the belief that Snape had been about to attack them. True, he’d had his wand in his hand – also true was that he had been holding it pointed towards the ground. The Aurors had been jumpy, quite understandably in the wake of the Final Battle, and inclined to hex first and ask questions later. In simple mathematics it meant that Snape had been felled by a total of fourteen (a fifteenth shot off the hex, but had missed her target) sets of a standard Magical Law Enforcement textbook hex for pre-emptive strike against a dangerous offender. It had quite literally taken the legs out from under him.
The hearing lumbered on, but Remus already knew what the outcome would be: Snape would be pardoned. After the evidence gathered from captured Death Eaters, Snape was once more confirmed as an undercover agent who had worked against Voldemort. Snape had been beyond all suspicion, deeply trusted by his former comrades until the very last moments of the conflict. Now imprisoned, they held him in the very deepest of contempt. Unfortunately, so did those who had fought against Voldemort. Tonks had certainly not approved of Snape’s imminent pardon, declining to accompany Remus to today’s proceeding. As much as it bothered him, Remus couldn’t really hold it against her; after all, he was probably the only one from the Order who had deigned to show up today.
His attention came back to the proceedings as he heard the vote taken to pardon Severus Snape; as he’d expected, the vote was carried by a clear majority of the Wizengamot. He might have been confident of the result, but Remus still let out a sigh of relief. He climbed to his feet to make his way out as the Wizengamot members left the chamber.
He was already waiting in the dim corridor when Snape was finally brought out. Remus frowned at the cumbersome wheeled chair that creaked along the flagstones. Surely the Ministry could have arranged something better than that? But then Snape was hardly a valued member of society, certainly not any more than Remus was. He realised with some shock, as the Wizengamot attendant stepped back from Snape’s chair with visible relief, that they simply meant to abandon him there.
“Severus?”
He stepped forward into the flickering light of the torch burning on the wall above Snape’s head. There was no discernable response from the seated man, and he tried again as he drew closer.
“Severus, it’s me, Remus Lupin.”
“Lupin,” the man acknowledged. Snape’s voice was as expressionless as his face.
“Do you have someone meeting you? Do you have anywhere to stay?” Remus asked.
Snape’s own house was out of the question; even if the Aurors had left the place intact it would be the very first place any Voldemort sympathisers would turn up looking for revenge. Remus’ stomach lurched as he made a very sudden, and therefore very ill considered, decision. He walked behind the chair and grasped the wooden handles.
“You’re coming home with me until you find your f…”
It was hardly worth aborting the sentence, the word hung so heavy at the end of it. He felt his face flame in mortification as he pushed the ancient contraption along the corridor to the lift. After a moment he realised that what he’d assumed was the creaking of the chair’s wheels was in fact a wheezing chuckle coming from its occupant.
~~~^~~~
They made their way up through the levels until they finally emerged into the Atrium. Remus paused in front of the banks of floo exits to consider the options. How should he do this? Floo wasn’t feasible. Broom? No, definitely not. That left Apparation, but he would have to lift Snape to cover him with his spell. And the chair would have to stay – no great loss there; given the brief time he’d been acquainted with it, Remus loathed the device out of all proportion. Before he thought better of it, he leant down and grabbed Snape about the waist, hefting him into his arms and whirling to Apparate home.
He staggered to a standstill outside his door. Snape was an awkward but strangely light burden in his arms, the loss of his legs having subtracted a large amount of bodyweight, he realised with a pang. He remembered those long limbs with surprising affection; the way Snape would move them, his fluid grace – in his adult life a far cry from those gawky, knobby-kneed school years.
“Put me down. Please,” Snape croaked in his ear. Remus felt the body against him stiffen then struggle. It was monumentally undignified for the man, and given a choice he would never have treated him this way.
“Yes, of course, Severus. Just a moment,” he assured him hastily. He struggled to get his wand out from his pocket to unlock his door, Snape halting all movement to free himself, which was just as well since the squirming had him slightly off balance in more ways than one. It was awful to see such a powerful wizard in such a position of dependency. He vowed to do something about it, and never mind that he had more than enough to cope with just clinging to his own dignity.
He kicked the front door closed behind him and shuffled into the lounge, depositing his cargo carefully on the tattered sofa. He stepped back, catching his breath and studying the closed eyes and pallid face of his companion.
“Severus, are you in pain?” he asked, kneeling down to peer more closely at the man. There was a light sheen of perspiration over the high forehead, but Snape made no response. Realising that Snape would never admit to weakness even in this extreme state, he huffed with a mixture of impatience and amusement.
“I’ll just fetch you a cool drink. Shan’t be long,” he murmured and left the man to compose himself for a while.
His fridge would need replenishing. Remus peered into it despondently, not really expecting much but then finding one lone butterbeer bottle at the back of the bottom shelf, that home of all surprise finds, not all of them welcome. He filled a glass for Snape then half-filled another glass for himself with the rest of the beer bottle.
When he returned to the small lounge room, the man was once again expressionless and remote, black eyes focused inward. Remus sat beside him on the sofa, holding the glass out wordlessly, determined that Snape’s silence was not going to prompt him to babble inanely. Five seconds, ten seconds passed, and just as his arm began to ache Snape reached out and took the glass.
“Thank you.”
If anyone else had said it Remus would have replied with, ‘You’re welcome’, or ‘Not at all’. Hearing Snape say it stunned him just as much as hearing the man say ‘Please’ a few minutes earlier had, and he said nothing in response.
Pondering this newly conditioned response in the wizard he’d always known to utter both phrases in none but the most sarcastic of tones Remus gulped down his butter beer too quickly and coughed to clear his airway. Snape didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, it’s not much,” he began, looking about at his surroundings, “but it’s home.”
Aside from the sofa they were sitting on there was a large armchair and a footstool, and over the fireplace a mantelpiece held a chipped vase of wilting pansies. There was an untidy pile of books stacked beside the armchair, but with much of his reading material involving the Dark Arts he’d kept the bookshelves out of sight in the bedroom. Thinking of the bedroom led to him wonder where the hell Snape would sleep. He supposed he would have to offer him his bed – his lovely bed where he had frequently had his way with Tonks until the end of the war. He was strangely unrepentant of their ill-considered relationship and, just as strangely, unregretful of its demise since peace broke out. As the current catch phrase went, it was a ‘war-time thing’, and he considered himself very lucky to still be on friendly terms with the young metamorphmagus.
He wondered if his indecently large and comfortable bed – his one luxury item – could be subdivided effectively. Then he wondered what it would be like sharing a bedroom with someone like Snape. After that he wondered why he hadn’t wondered about all this before he’d practically kidnapped Snape from the Ministry thirty minutes ago. He sighed and climbed to his feet.
“I’m going to sort out the bedroom, Severus. Call if you need anything.”
Without waiting for a response he was sure wouldn’t come, he walked out of the room, digging in his pocket for his wand once more as he headed for the bedroom to perform an act of cruelty upon his unsuspecting mattress.
~~~^~~~