20/20: Clarity
It was a cold feeling, to know that Black was dead. Not even cold comfort. Just a chill in his guts, a charcoal-grey sensation had it had a colour, sometimes the darkest red of cloying blood.
But there had been no blood. He had existed; then he had not.
There was no need for Severus to be at the Department of Mysteries, under any circumstances. But under the excuse of helping to pick over the breakages and other damage, he had gone all the same, and had stood before the Veil. He heard the voices. He imagined that one of them might have been Sirius Black, whispering his sorrow, expressing his regret with a twenty-twenty clarity that only those dead are given to possess.
He had not felt anyone come up behind him, only knew it when they spoke. "Don't get too close, Severus." Lupin, his tone grey, his face grey, grief moulding every contour of his prematurely young face.
"I have no intention of doing." He stepped back, all the same, more to put distance between himself and the werewolf.
Lupin stared at the Veil for a moment longer, then fixed his gaze onto Severus. He searched his face for a long moment, making Severus uncomfortable.
…did the heavens see…?
"Remus," someone called from the door, "give us a hand a minute, would you?"
"Yes," Lupin called over his shoulder, then turned once more to meet Severus' narrowed stare. "Severus, I think we need to talk."
"Perhaps, but that does not mean we should." Severus turned abruptly, and halted equally quickly as he came face to face with the veiled archway. He sidestepped it and strode towards the door.
"The Shrieking Shack," Lupin said, close behind him, matching his stride.
Severus snorted, derisively.
"Tonight, at ten."
"I'm busy," Severus said through his teeth.
"Washing your hair?"
Severus whirled and thrust Lupin against the wall by his throat. He looked unconcerned. Severus permitted himself the slightest squeeze of the animal's windpipe, then released him.
"You can consider me in your debt, should you decide to come," the Werewolf said, and turned past him through the doorway.
Severus gulped deep breaths, felt himself sliding backwards, fingers clawing at the owl-shit, fingers …
But it passed. He was not any of the men he had been. He felt stronger, coldly strong, powerful, master of himself. His assailant was dead, and now there was no chance of anyone ever finding out what had happened.
Except, perhaps, from Pettigrew.
But that must wait.
ooOoo
9:20pm.
He glanced back down at his potion and cursed. Lost count. And, yes, the potion did not turn pink, but purple: ruined. Disgusted, he tossed his stirrer across the classroom, where it clattered into the sink.
"Ah, Severus." Dumbledore stood at the open door. "Some trouble?"
"None whatsoever, headmaster." He wiped his hands on a cloth and Scourgified the contents of the cauldron. "Can I help you?"
"Nothing at all, Severus, most kind of you to ask, however. No, I was simply passing and heard you, and recalled Remus Lupin telling me that, should I see you, I was to remind you of your meeting tonight. Ten o'clock, I believe."
Severus felt the blood drain from his face.
"There. I can go back to my rooms and drink my tea, satisfied I have done my job." Dumbledore winked, and withdrew.
Severus chewed his lip until he felt the hot coppery taste flood across his tongue. He turned and ransacked his cupboards for a salve. Of course Dumbledore didn't know. He was relaying a message. There was no sympathy in his tone, or suspicion in the way he looked at him … not precisely true, but he always looked at him like that …
… unless Lupin had told him.
His breath left him and he sagged against the workbench. It had been blatantly apparent to him that, when he had caught them together at Grimmauld Place, Lupin had no idea that his boyfriend was a rapist. Black would have had time to at least give him the bare bones of the story, and yet left him with many questions with which he might have gone to Dumbledore …
Lupin and his social-worker temperament.
He would have to go and meet him. His fist came down on the workbench, driving his nails into the flesh of his palm. He glanced at the calendar on the wall: only a quarter moon, no danger there.
But he did not want to be alone with another man in the middle of nowhere. The mere thought of it made him nauseous. The man was strong, had violence, had a penis.
He fell against the sink and retched. He felt himself sliding ….
Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.
He raised watering eyes to the porcelain reflection in the tiles. He didn't quite like the half-formed thought, but the more he prodded it the more substantial it became.
After all, he couldn't make Black suffer. And his vengeance upon the Werewolf had been a long time coming. Unemployment had not even touched the sides of that particular hole in his soul.
He knocked on the tap and water splashed into the sink, washing his vomit away. He filled his hand and supped it, rinsing out his mouth, and considered various ways of getting rid of the smell of fear, that the werewolf would surely scent upon him, even in his human state.
ooOoo
The shack looked pretty much as it always had. It seemed to move with a life of its own, echoing with creaks and groans and the laughter of boys, some of whom were now dead.
Severus stood at the foot of the rickety staircase, looking around him. Human footprints had scuffed the dust on the floor, showing him that Lupin had probably had a reminiscent wander around whilst he waited.
"Lupin!" he called in an impatient tone.
"I'm here, Severus," came Lupin's voice from behind him. Severus whirled. Lupin was an untidy shadow in a room just off the hall. He walked into the light cast by Severus' wand. He looked … composed. That was Lupin all over: passions repressed, emotions controlled, hiding behind politeness and good intentions.
All lies.
…. fury, pain, humiliation ….
"Thanks for coming," he added. His voice was grateful and kind and made Severus want to drive his fist into his face.
… Bash in his head, splatter the blood, mash the brains into the carpet …His hand felt sticky on his wand, which was wavering slightly. He realised that he had forgotten to speak, then that he didn't actually want to say anything.
Lupin gestured behind him with his wand and the shadowy room sprang to life with light. "I built a fire whilst I was waiting," he explained, as if they were on a camping trip.
"Smoke," Severus heard himself say.
"Dealt with," Lupin replied. "Come in." He turned and walked over to the fireplace, and settled himself on a filthy footstool. Across from it he had positioned a winged armchair that was slashed across the back so that the stuffing leaked out, but otherwise seemed sturdy enough. Between the two seats was a small crate that Lupin had covered with a white handkerchief, and laid out two glasses and a decanter filled with a dark liquid.
Severus did not move from the doorway.
"Drink, Severus?" There was a clink of thick glass on glass as he removed the stopper. "It's a Burgundy. I thought you'd appreciate it. Good quality."
Severus made himself move and walked to stand beside Lupin, who held up a glass. He took it and automatically raised it to his nose and inhaled: he spoke the truth; he took a sip.
Lupin raised his glass.
"To absent friends?" Severus sneered.
This time Lupin did not disguise his hurt. He lowered his glass untouched, his gaze falling from Severus' face. Severus took another sip and seated himself comfortably in the chair, crossing his legs.
"That was uncalled for," Lupin said, meeting his gaze again.
"I will decide what is and what is not uncalled for," Severus said, enjoying the sensation of power racing through his veins. "Have you asked me here to change my mind about your dead friends? You would be wasting your time."
Lupin was silent for a moment as he searched Severus' expression. "I haven't come here to argue," he said. "I had hoped that we could put some things behind us. And, naturally, ask you about Sirius. About the nature of your relationship."
Severus stared at him in astonishment. A smug satisfaction spread though him: Lupin did not know.
"It did not escape your notice," Lupin continued, "that we were lovers."
Severus snorted, twisting a smile; inside his head were the images from the Pensieve … sliding … pain …
Lupin's gaze was steady. "You were lovers, too. Weren't you?"
As Severus raised his glass for another sip, he saw how much it was shaking. Lupin's eyes never left him.
"You can say it, Severus," he said. "It won't shock me or hurt me. But then we have something in common, you see. Something that we can build on."
"Be friends?" Severus spluttered. His arm jerked and he dashed the glass into the fire. "How wrong you are!"
Lupin's eyes were shiny in the candle-light. "I loved him," he said, softly. He paused, and there was a catch in his breath. "Did you?"
… like love, this hate …
Severus stared at the wine decanter. He felt Black behind him, pushing him against the table in the dingy kitchen, Black's flaccid penis pressing against his own skinny buttocks. He felt Black beneath him on the floor, prone from a hex, helpless sarcasm pouring from his lips in an effort to get punished. He felt Black's erection tearing at his flesh, hurting and humiliating him.
"No," he said, his voice cracking. "I did not."
Thank Merlin, it was the truth, but the scale of his obsession revealed itself to him, and he covered his eyes so that Lupin could not see the tears there.
"Severus," Lupin whispered, and a hand touched his. He leaped up and away, the violence of his reaction mirrored in the shock on Lupin's face. "I'm sorry!"
The shock had let him find himself again, and he bared his teeth at Lupin. "Did he stick it in you, Lupin?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone. "Did you get him hard, and let him stick it in your arse? Did you suck him first? Did you like it when he emptied his load into you, and it dribbled out again, down your leg and onto the floor, mingled with the piss because you'd wet yourself in your excitement?"
The catch in his voice stopped him.
Lupin appeared to be trying to think very fast. "Well," he said, "apart from a couple of details … but, Severus, I … you … because I don't think …" He finally held up his hands. "I don't think I can say anything to that."
"You can say," Severus said quietly and precisely, "I'm so sorry that my boyfriend raped you, Severus."
There followed a deafening silence. Only the fire whispered.
"You're mistaken," Lupin said.
"I am not," Severus hissed.
Lupin was ashen. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Opened it and said, "You've said some cruel, vindictive things in your time, Severus –"
"The truth sometimes hurts –"
"You are mistaken."
"How can you mistake rape?"
"You know what Sirius was like – got out of hand –"
"And what is it that you think I was doing with that smelly mutt that might have got out of hand? A flirtation? A romantic get together?" Severus only just stopped himself from stamping his foot. He took a deep, shaky breath. "I assure you, Lupin, it was none of the above. It was as far removed from love-making as you could possibly imagine."
This is good. I am enjoying myself.
Lupin downed his glass and poured some more, but left it on his little table. He stared past Severus into the fire. His jaw was set, his brows pulled down, deep in thought. Finally, a log shifted and broke his contemplation.
"The memory in the Pensieve," he said, softly.
"Yes, indeed." Severus snatched up Lupin's glass and almost took a mouthful. He met the werewolf's eyes, replaced it, and grasped the bottle instead.
"Wouldn't want to catch anything," he murmured, and took two mouthfuls.
Lupin stared into the fire. "I'd like to see it. The memory."
"It's hardly titillating."
"I'm not expecting it to be!"
"And, besides, he's dead." Oh, it gave him no small satisfaction to say that.
"Your memory," Lupin said doggedly. "Your memory of his memory." He looked up.
"Yes," Severus said through his teeth, "my memory."
Lupin examined him thoroughly. Finally he said, "I'm entitled to some measure of proof."
Severus shrugged. "You wanted this meeting, Lupin. To talk about how I felt about your boyfriend."
"Don't say it like that!""And now I have told you exactly how I feel!" He bent down to stare into Lupin's flushed face. "Humiliated. Furious. And you think we can be friends? I think not. I think this conversation, and any hope you had for bringing me into the fold, or the kennel, is over. Goodnight."
He did not for one moment intend to leave, and was satisfied when Lupin called, almost desperately, after him: "Severus – stop! Wait!"
He halted, feeling his cloak curl around his legs, sweeping up the dust. He heard Lupin stand and take a tentative step. He turned and drank in the fabulous sight of the cowed werewolf.
"If you didn't come here to give me the whole truth, with the Pensieve," Lupin said, "then why did you come at all?"
"To see if you knew. To discover whether you had told Dumbledore. It is apparent you have done neither. I have done what I came to do."
"Then," Lupin paused, "you told me about the rape simply to hurt me."
Severus said nothing: it was the truth.
"Or," Lupin continued, hesitantly, "to ask for my help."
There was a shocked silence. Severus drew in a harsh breath, his hand automatically brushing the wand in his pocket. "I don't think you're in any position to help me, Lupin."
Lupin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. As usual he was commanding his emotions well, but to Snape, who knew the signs, he looked utterly bereft. "The very act telling about your … about what happened … don't you think that has helped?"
Severus gave this serious consideration. It had certainly helped to see the naked hurt in Lupin's eyes. To know that Black had been demeaned forever in the eyes of one who had loved him.
… the truth hurts…
Why should he not show Lupin the scene? He would see just what a bastard Sirius Black had been. And that rat, Pettigrew. The ones who had loved him and who he had loved. How did it feel for Lupin, to have this taint the memory of his friends, to have his past re-written and his present in doubt and disarray, not to be able to trust his own judgement any more, to feel betrayed?
I know how that feels.
Suddenly Severus realised what he had done. As a by-product of his resentment and revenge, he had made them the same.
That could not be. I am not the same as this pathetic creature. He drew his wand and pointed it at a horrified Lupin, who was too slow to match him.
"Please let me help, Severus," Lupin breathed, quickly, appealingly.
Severus arched a brow. "Don't you wish you could un-know what you now know about him?"
Lupin looked defeated. He did not reply.
…fingers, sliding …pain…
"And if I showed you the scene in the Pensieve?" he asked, tightly, "Could you still cherish his memory?"
A tear slid down Lupin's cheek.
"And could you keep your grief and your bewilderment to yourself?" Severus probed, softly, silkily, sighting down the length of his wand to the spot on Lupin's shabby jacket that hung over his heart.
"I wouldn't be alone," Lupin whispered. "Severus, please, don't Obliviate me. We can help each –"
"I don't want to help you!""I want to help you!"
The words were like a blow. Severus lost his target as his hand shook and his eyes met Lupin's again. The werewolf looked genuine. Severus had no doubt that he was. He wanted to be friends.
Nice doggy friends licking each other's bollocks and frolicking together …"I have no need for friends," he breathed, taking aim again. "After all, look where that got me before."
"Severus –"
"Obliviate!"
ooOoo
"Potter!"
He could tell by the look on the boy's face that he blamed him completely for the death of his godfather. Even without Legilimency, the boy's thoughts were almost tangible.
One day, he thought, smugly, his resentment burning in his guts, one day …
Professor McGonagall turned up and spoilt his fun somewhat, but if truth be told it was timely interference, before he said or did something he regretted: the hurt was still too raw, he had not managed to master it completely. That would take time.
She sent Potter outside. Draco followed, equally sullen, after a moment. Then she turned to him, her sharp eyes examining his face. "Professor Snape … Severus … his godfather has just died. Perhaps you could be a little more understanding?"
He twisted his mouth into a smile, with only the hint of a sneer. "I could."
"Whatever it is," she said, "get over it. The past is the past. Don't blame the boy for what his predecessors did. It was six of one and half-a-dozen of the other – if I remember rightly, you didn't take it lying down."
He stared at her, marvelling at her choice of words. That it came down to this: in death, Sirius Black was untouchable, they would all love him, forever, even if they knew the truth.
Pettigrew knows the truth.
He smiled, as sincerely as he could, though judging by her expression this worried her more.
… like love, this hate …
"We can't let Potter and Malfoy get out of hand," he said. "It needs to be nipped in the bud. Lest the school have another generation of antagonism on its conscience."
She was thinking: revenge is a dish best eaten cold. But, for the moment, he had had his fill.
But she was right. She was right.
The End
Yes, this is the end of '20-20'. For my sanity. It's been emotionally hard to write and probably a trial to read; but writing and reading should be challenging, sometimes.
A big thanks to my betas Thirteen Ravens and Gwendolyn Grace, and thanks to everyone who has left reviews and added me to favs, or been following this from the shadows.
I have another WIP 'Smoke and Mirrors' which is Snape-centric but entirely different to this one, please check it out. Lots of hot het sex. Even in this fandom, there is such a thing ;-)
Adred x