Dirge of the Dying
Summary: Remus, captured by Death Eaters, ponders fate with Snape. Just a random drabble that popped into mind.
Eyes cold, burning like a black fire in the deep. Merlin, he remembers the first time he saw Severus Snape. A quiet boy of eleven with a wary approach, his arms crossed as he made his way around a seventh year Lucius Malfoy to sit with the other young Slytherins after he had been sorted. Even back then he had worn his customary sneer as a defense. At the time Remus Lupin had chalked it up to the same thing that was wrong with all Slytherins, a self-inflated ego and parents that were pumping him with dreams of power.
Later on Remus would revise his opinion and harbor a secret fancy of kinship with the dark boy—they were both trying to find their way around the various forms of rejection. One because he had been trained to think he was worth no more by cruel parents, the other because of a simple act of fate that transformed him into a monster. And so Remus began to, now and again, try and shut Sirius up, stop James from his little pranks. Maybe somewhere inside he wanted to reach out to Snape, because he knew what it felt like to be hated.
Never happened. It wouldn't have mattered if he had tried.
Lupin doubled over in pain, arms trying to shield himself from wicked hands and feet. His lids fluttered momentarily as he hit the oaken floor, falling in a pool of his own blood. Of all the things he was feeling as he lay there, Death Eaters jeering above him, it was the splintered wood drawing his life's blood from his palm that caught his waning attention.
That and the vision of a shadowed figure watching from the dark. Severus Snape did not partake of the evening's enjoyment over the capture of a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Perhaps he felt it was beneath him.
His dusty brown hair hung over his eyes, but through the sweaty, blood-tinged locks, Remus watched Snape, whose dark eyes shimmered in the dim of a fading candle. He stood against the wall, arms crossed in that familiar way, hand clutching his wand. The very image of an angel of death waiting to drag another soul across the black river of oblivion.
Snape's face bore no expression. As always, it was a perfect mask to whatever might be going on inside, whatever he might be feeling. Perhaps he simply did not feel anymore, who knew? Perhaps he never really did. Maybe all that emotional armor he wore as if every day was a battle was actually no more than an empty shell containing nothing but a lightless source of evil. He watched Remus writhe with an immovable gaze.
A hand moved along Lupin's arm. They had ripped his shirt off long ago, torn his pants to shreds until he was covered with little more than scars and gashes. He was forced to his back, eyes taken from view of Snape and directed into madness. He had barely a second to tense as she purred, "Crucio!"
His vision turned to stardust, and agony wracked his body. Time seemed to stop and hold him captive in that terrible moment. And then faded, as ever it had, leaving him cold and shaking.
Bellatrix Lestrange stared with a heavy-lidded gaze, her red lips held in a soft breath-catch of enjoyment. "I like playing with this one," she crooned, reaching to snake her fingers through Lupin's hair. She yanked him back so his throat was exposed and aimed her wand. "He does not fight, yet resists everything." Her tongue traced her mouth thoughtfully, as if she thought to entice him. "You're not afraid."
"Bella!" The sharp voice of a jealous husband stopped her from casting the Cruciatus again. She turned into his black, ravenous stare and he smiled at her dark bliss. Her response was an impish wink, and then she turned back to her victim.
At that point, for the first time that evening, Snape spoke. It was like crossing back through the years as he, in his familiar way, admonished, "He is on the verge of death. Leave him. Our Lord has questions that a corpse may find somewhat difficult to answer."
Her eyes rolled back and she made a pouting noise, but did as commanded. She awarded Snape a dark look before retreating with her husband.
And then they were alone.
Remus stared at the ceiling, listening as Snape pushed himself off the wall and approached slowly. Each step resounded in Lupin's ears; it was inescapable, though he tried to pretend the betrayer wasn't in the room. He didn't trust himself to speak. Not yet.
Instead, the betrayer spoke. A question, simple and hungry. "Where is Potter?"
Refusing to answer, Lupin steeled himself for another round of torment, this time wrought by hands he had once trusted. Bellatrix was right. He was not afraid. Not because he had any illusions of freeing himself from this Hell, not because he thought anyone here would have mercy, no. But because he believed in Harry. It would be over soon and the world would be free of Voldemort's chains.
Snape knelt beside Lupin. Gently, he drew the shaking werewolf's chin up to face him. His black eyes glittered, stalking the thoughts behind Lupin's azure gaze. He was no fool. He knew what Snape was doing.
Unfortunately he had not the skill to fight it. Once satisfied, obviously having stolen the information he needed from Lupin's mind, Snape tossed him back to the floor and strolled to a nearby window. It was dark outside. No moon to light the way.
"It doesn't matter if Voldemort knows where Harry is," Remus hissed, casting a defiant glare towards the shadowy figure. "Because Harry has already won." And he believed that, too. Let Voldemort try. It wouldn't matter. It was Harry's destiny, if one believed in such things.
Snape turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "Do you think that?" he asked softly, thoughtfully. He went back to his somber watch.
Remus lifted a shaking hand, smoothed his hair back out of his eyes. He took a shuddering breath as he tried to sit up and failed miserably. When was the last time he had taken a beating like this? He could remember seventh year, the Forbidden Forest. He had broken free of his friends' careful guard and had a run-in with centaurs.
A pale smile found its way on his lips. Was this what they meant by one's life flashing before their eyes? He had no future, only his memories. And when Voldemort came there would be nothing left.
"And so it ends tonight." It was a whisper, barely audible to human ears. Fortunately, Remus Lupin possessed certain gifts from his curse. He heard Snape's musing, and wondered at the strange note to the man's voice.
"Yes, Severus. It ends tonight." The werewolf coughed, made a bitter noise at the scarlet that flecked his lips. Pain surged through him, not for himself, but for Harry when he walked in and saw what had become of the last Marauder. The anger could destroy Harry finally, irrevocably. Or it could fuel the fire for the final battle. "And we're both going to die."
It was then Remus noticed that Snape's hand was shaking. It was ever so slight, something only the most sensitive eyes might see. As if sensing he was being watched, Snape coupled his hands, rubbed them together as if it would wash away the motion betraying his emotions. He turned with a glare, still rubbing his hand absently as he dropped into a chair.
"Yes, we will, won't we? You, the last of a wretched band of misfits that should have died from your own ignorance long ago, and I…" He trailed off, moving his eyes to the dying flame of a dark emerald candle on the mantle nearby.
Lupin laid his head back, tired from hacking up blood. "Have you no faith in your Lord, Severus? Isn't that what you gave your soul for? What you killed D…"
"Don't!" Snape growled low, quite suddenly, before Remus could say the name. The fire that had died in those black eyes so long ago renewed itself momentarily, then faded once again as the jaded truth of the world reclaimed its hold. Severus leaned back in his chair, his arms draped haphazardly along the arms of it, wand clutched in his right hand. "I promise you my Lord is fully capable, no matter what battles Potter has accidentally won, to end the boy's miserable life tonight."
"But he won't," Remus promised right back, softly, certainly.
Snape's fingers twitched. He brought his wand close, folding his arms over his chest, keeping it visible and ready. Again, his voice dropped so low as to barely be heard.
"No."
They shared a long gaze and it was then Remus began to understand. "Harry will kill you, no matter what you do, no matter what you think might redeem you," he tested, wondering how Snape would respond.
The dark wizard smiled at the werewolf. "Yes."
So, they still shared a certain kinship between them. Only now it was not the same struggle against the world, but the inevitable end the world would give. They were dying men and both of them knew it. The only difference was, one of them would miss this world. The other had waited for this night for a long time. Remus let out a breath and sagged against the floor.
Ever stealing the thoughts from his mind, Snape fully saw what Lupin thought, felt what Lupin felt. And his voice turned harsh and bitter as he hissed, "You waste your pity on me! I accepted this fate long ago!"
Yes, he had, hadn't he? Accepted he would die, accepted that to win he would have to lose his life, give his soul so that the darkness would believe him long enough for the light to overcome. The ultimate sacrifice in killing Dumbledore. The ultimate betrayal in killing Voldemort.
Remus closed his eyes. "No, Severus. You misunderstand. It is the fact of that I pity, not your fate. If things could be different…" He coughed again, sagged even further back.
"Don't waste your last breaths on would be's, wolfboy. It's weak and bloody annoying." He steadily watched the flame of the candle on the mantle until it died. "Besides, tonight is a good night for revenge."
"Tonight is a good night for redemption, too."
The other man snorted dubiously. "Overemotional fool. There is no redemption for me. The little brat will live as a hero and I will die as I should—a villain going on to pay for his sins."
Lupin sighed at the aggravation in Snape's voice. He had accepted death, yes, accepted all the terrible things he would have to do to be there at the last moment, when Harry would need him most. But what made all of this possible was Snape's inability to accept himself, to accept he was worth any other fate.
Ironic, how life worked. Oh, if things could have been different.
But if they were, would Harry still win? Perhaps even death and terror had a reason, after all. Perhaps there was a grand plan.
Death hunted both men, would claim them both by the end of the night. And Harry would be the stronger for it, and Voldemort would be vanquished forever.
"You're wrong," Lupin said quietly, looking through blurred vision, speaking through tired lungs, determined his companion should have one more consolation before he met his destiny. "As long as you know the truth, as I now know it, you'll die…"
Snape threw his hand in the air to forestall any more. Respecting that, knowing Snape knew what he was going to say anyway, he did not go on. The other rolled his black eyes and leaned back in his chair wearily. "One more sentimental rambling from you and I'll kill you myself."
Remus hid a smile behind his hand as he wiped the blood from his mouth. "Very well, Severus."
Some things would never change. But even those things could serve as hope for the future, to move the things that could. One last comfort for two comfortless lives that would see no dawn, but knew it would come anyway and be beautiful still, for all the darkness that had passed.
A/N: Incidentally…did anyone else who saw OotP think Snape and Lucius were HOTHOTHOT? ;-) Sorry, I had to get that out of my system.
Disclaimer: Don't own em. More's the pity.