Author's Notes: Written for the LJ's comm lupin-snape Dark Fic Challenge using the prompt: People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf. – George Orwell. I really don't know what to say about this one. I was trying to convey many feelings using as few words as I could, which is a challenge for me. I hope it is dark enough to fit the challenge. Set after HBP, though it may be slightly AU. Many thanks to my beta faeriechii, who always has the perfect words to keep me going. All mistakes are mine. The title is Spanish for the dark side of the moon.
You look at him, sleeping and even though you know - or at least you hope - that he's not sleeping peaceably, you can't help but be incensed. There was a time, not long ago, when you would be the one sleeping and he would be the one out there, lying, deceiving, maiming, violating, and Merlin knows what kind of unthinkable acts, just so people like you could go to sleep peaceably; just so people like you could have a false sense of security. You still remember how you used to feel all those nights he was out, playing what you thought was his Death Eater façade.
You've always been a man of peace, perhaps because it's the way in which you rebel against Fate's cruel hand. She made you a monster, you act as a human. He never said it, but you suspect that's what he liked about you, how he was violent turmoil even when he was silent and how you were always placid calm, even when you were boisterous.
It has taken you three weeks to find them. Three weeks in which a thousand thoughts have invaded your mind and poisoned your soul, three weeks half hoping half dreading that he was dead, that someone else had gotten to him before you. You find them sleeping, Draco amidst what seem to be horrible nightmares and Severus in what was obviously exhaustion induced sleep. And in this moment, you are finally relieved. Relieved because he is yours to deal with, no one else's.
A quick Petrificus Totalis for Draco and some strong binds for him. Draco is Portkeyed to Harry, just as he requested, wherever he is. You don't know and you don't care. You lost all communication with your supposed side, don't even know what happened with Dumbledore's body, whether it was disposed of or not.
He's so tired he hasn't even noticed he's constrained and you keep looking at him, because you don't know when will be the next time you'll have the opportunity, because you know it may well be the last time.
People will think you snapped because of Dumbledore. After all, it is not a secret that he was perhaps the only one that trusted you. He allowed you to go to Hogwarts and made all kinds of arrangements so that you could have a somewhat normal live. He even let you stay after the incident in which you almost killed Severus, even though you know he shouldn't have. The truth is that you don't give a fuck about Dumbledore. You don't give a fuck about anything right now, just him.
It's time to wake him and that part of you that loves him urges you to caress him, but you have crossed that line and instead of a loving touch, you slap him, slap him, slap him, God, you slap him so hard, so much you don't even notice he's waken up. He looks at you. His dark, incisive eyes looking at you with a mixture of confusion, hurt and knowledge and you should be surprised that he knows, he knows, but you are not, because then again, no one else knows you as he does.
You want to ask him why, why couldn't he talk to you, why did he do it, why did he ruin everything. Because you know there's no way you two will have a happy ending - if there ever really was a chance at that - not now, not after what he's done. He will be hunted and killed by either side and you will lose the last, the only illusion you've ever had. You can't allow anyone else to have him.
You hate him; you hate him so much because it's all his fault. You were content with your life - at least that's what you repeated to yourself everyday, as if by doing so you would believe it one day. But he couldn't see you at peace, he couldn't let you get away with it and he had to invade your bed, your heart, you soul.
You want to demand an explanation even though you've never demanded anything, not even respect, but you find you can't talk by any other means than your fists and you keep smacking him until you can't see anything but blood in his face and you still keep going, because you are talking, asking, demanding. He takes it all without a single word, though you can feel, hear him trying to stop the painful moans that want to get out and that makes you even more irate, if that's possible and you vow to make him scream.
There's a part of you that negates your current state; that begs you to get back to being the peaceful man you've always been. It's the part of you that has never let the wolf free, but you don't want to hear it anymore, you let the wolf out and now you embrace it. How can you deny it so? You've done nothing else all your life but not tonight, because the wolf is grieving as well, the wolf knows it's lost its mate and it wants to kill and destroy and so do you.
You make him scream while you take him, over and over and over again, and Merlin, it feels so good. And you should be scared and appalled that you feel like this, that you've derived pleasure from such a violent act but you don't and that's when you know you are one with the wolf, that you've fallen deeper and deeper and there's no turning back, you don't want it to, because on the other side, there's only pain and despair for you. There are only people who are afraid of you, people that use you, even if they claim to be your best friends; people that just want from you what you can't give anymore. People that make you believe, just to destroy everything in the end.
You look at him and you don't know whether he's asleep, unconscious or dead. You reckon you'll know as soon as you want another go. In the quietness of the ghastly, filthy room you suddenly remember one conversation you had one night, which seems to be a long time ago.
You asked how could he go and do what he did every night he was summoned. You were enjoying a very rare post-coital cuddling session - because Snapes don't cuddle - and even though you didn't want it to end, you wanted to know. He kept looking at the ceiling of your room, pretending he didn't hear and just when you thought he wasn't answering he said people sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.
You chuckle at the memory, thinking how little it takes to make a man rough.