Au Crépuscule

...

"'Tis midnight now. The bend and broken moon, batter'd and black, as from a thousand battles, hangs silent on the purple walls of Heaven." - Joaquin Miller

"A year, ten years from now, I'll remember this; not why, only that we were here like this, together." - Adrienne Rich

...

"My word --" spoke a female voice, which roused Remus from the solitary comfort of sleep. Stubbornly, he kept his eyes closed, chasing fragments of hellish dreams as if they might expose some hidden truth for him. There was something he needed to remember, something he must not allow himself to forget, some secret he must lock away in his heart forever, lest he lose sight of what he was. But Severus' potion made achieving consciousness a heavy task and slow, and the dreams kept flitting away from him like kites in high wind, leaving only reddish-tinted darkness behind his closed eyelids.

"That blood!" gasped the woman, her voice betraying a hint of fear that Remus, even in his somnolent state, detected. He thought he recognised it, though not well; even worried, the woman sounded slightly haughty and aloof, as if the wizard at her side was not her equal but her inferior. It was not of much interest to him, however, as he hovered on the edge between waking and sleeping, far more interested in what his night visions could tell him.

The man's voice was stern, his intentions focussed on the serious work at hand. He did not much offer the woman comfort, though Remus thought he could detect the man's desire so to do.

"Most of it isn't his," spoke Severus Snape through gritted teeth as he moved his hands gently over the torn, bloody trousers. The werewolf had torn his clothing to shreds in the aftermath of the murder, though whether on nightmare-inspired accident or purpose Severus did not know. Remus' robes hung over his body like a dark shroud, wet with blood, but as Severus peeled the cloth away, he was treated to the unhappy sight of a number of wounds of varying severity.

Curiosity infused the woman's voice. "Most?"

There was a hollow sound, as though someone had struck a piece of furniture in outrage. "We didn't do anything to him. What wounds he has, he inflicted upon himself. I had hoped that potion -- damn it -- I told Lucius and Avery --"

Remus felt a sudden sting on his thigh, the sensation of someone dabbing cold liquid onto his leg, and heard Severus mutter impatiently as the wound was treated.

"Werewolf bites. Can't do a thing for it."

Dimly, Remus thought of the early days of his childhood, standing on the grass in halcyon summer, watching the sun set large, golden and scarlet. Too many years had passed for Remus to remember what he had been thinking that particular early June evening, though he remembered the scratchy wool of grey short trousers against his legs and the feel of the toy aeroplane in one hand, a gift from a Muggle aunt who knew nothing about witches or wizards and would be told, after that terrible night, that he had been savaged by a rabid dog.

Although he did not remember precisely, Remus always associated those last few minutes of childhood with innocence and a carefree bliss he had never experienced since. He had stopped being a child that night, whatever his years numbered; life had become a series of hearings in imposing dark rooms within the Ministry, experimental treatments administered at St Mungo's, horrible family discussions where his father was stern and his mother cried behind her handkerchief. Young Remus, studious and smart, stopped expecting adults to pat his head and remark upon his scholastic dedication, and instead became used to being scowled at by older wizards, who kept their children well out of range even when the moon was new or waning.

Moment from the attack, he had been wonderfully, terribly naive about the world he lived in, with all its shadows and monsters who lunged and bit with jagged teeth. A silhouette against the dying sun; he had paid no attention but merely held his aeroplane up to the clouds, dreaming of flight, eager to try the toy broom his father had discussed buying in a few weeks' time. Then the dark figure had come closer, with impossible speed, not a man but a wolf -- but no, not a wolf, precisely, but some combination of man and beast. Large and shaggy and grey, with mean yellow eyes, it had leapt, and the aeroplane had fallen. Remus' shorts and the white shirt, which he had kept pristine on his mother's orders, were covered with blood and dirt, and the pain had been everywhere at once.

No, he thought, drawing a little nearer full consciousness. The attack of Fenrir Greyback had been years and years ago, over three decades past. He had been a small boy then, and was now a grown man, too weary sometimes to believe his body was only thirty-seven. But Severus' words, the werewolf bite - Remus opened his eyes to a hazy, blurred vision of a blonde woman kneeling beside Severus. The latter insisting on dabbing his bleeding leg with something purple which smoked and stung, while the former passed her wand over his body, spurring his healing abilities into action.

The blonde woman bent nearer, taking the purple liquid from Severus and handing him a phial of something clear and sparkling. Remus narrowed his eyes, trying to capture a better view of her features, because surely, she could not be who he thought she was. Narcissa Malfoy had never had a kind bone in her body, yet the blonde was smoothing back his hair, dabbing tears -- tears, Remus marvelled, I'm human enough for tears -- from his eyes, applying a cold compress to his arm, which felt broken.

Whomever she was, the woman with the uncanny resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy turned to Severus, her hand on his arm. "He killed that Trelawney woman, then? Lucius told me that was the plan."

"Yes," came Severus' answer through gritted teeth as he tried to mend the deep, long gash on Remus' leg.

"And you think he did this to himself why?"

"Out of remorse, I'd guess," Severus commented, still focussed. "I don't know how he managed it. The potion I gave him should have sedated him, and kept away any nightmares. Someone should have kept watch, seen to it he didn't harm himself. I should have stayed here."

Narcissa patted his arm again. "Don't blame yourself."

"Who else do you suggest I blame?" His words were curt, angry, but he was gentle as he gave up his potions and reached for bandages, hoping to bind the bite wound and stem the flow of blood at least a little. "I'm supposed to be helping him. He was better off without my efforts." Wrapping the bandages around Remus' leg, he frowned, interrupting Narcissa when she attempted to speak. "That broken bone is going to need treatment as well," he said, looking up at Remus' arm.

Pushing Severus aside, Narcissa bent lower over Remus, her fingers tracing the pattern of the radius and ulna. "Let me do this. I was always a natural at healing charms," she said. "You haven't forgotten, I assume, the bones of yours I healed, when you and Lucius would come home from those scraps?"

"I've not forgotten," Severus said, head bowed as Narcissa touched her wand to Remus' arm and slowly spoke a spell that sounded like a song, that made his arm feel as though it were simultaneously numb with cold and tingling with warmth. "Hold him a moment. I want to give him something to make him sleep." Remus felt Severus press a bottle of fluid to his mouth, which felt like sickly-sweet syrup going down his throat. He tried to thank the other man, once Severus pulled away, but the darkness caught him too quickly, and Remus succumbed.

...

"You're awake."

Severus proclamation was met with stony silence. He stepped inside the bedroom in which Remus had been accommodated, his eyes adjusting to the sullen gloom within. There were candles on the dressing table, and though Remus' wand had not been returned, Severus knew Lupin was reasonably competent at wandless magic. He had not taken to the subject with the ease of his bolder friends - Severus felt a pang of old envy at the memory of Sirius Black, who had accomplished the feat the first day it was taught - but he, like Severus, had studied hard and, with determination, succeeded. Severus had needed wandless magic to fend off Black and Potter's curses, Remus had needed it so not to face embarrassment in front of his friends. Tossing his dark hair back, Severus forced himself not to think of anything he and the werewolf had in common.

"How are you feeling?" he asked brusquely, crossing the room. Remus was sitting in one of the two chairs the bedroom contained. They were not the nicest furnishings in the manor, but of excellent quality all the same. Both were covered in pale blue silk woven through with the pattern of weeping willows. Instead of reclining, Remus sat ramrod straight in the strictest posture Severus had ever observed, his hands grasping the arms of the chair with such force he had managed to rip some of the cloth. Stuffing peeked through by his fingertips.

In the waning light of the evening, Remus' features were shadowed. His eyes glowed faintly orange, and he did not blink, or turn his head to face Severus as he spoke. His voice sounded ancient, as if it had been years and not hours since he had last spoken. "How do you think I feel?"

"Do you hurt?" Severus asked, rephrasing the question. Silently, he cursed himself for the mistake; of course, the man opposite him was beating himself up still, for the murder. Severus too knew the guilt of such an aftermath, though he gave himself a stern mental shake. Attachment, sympathy -- all was verboten within the manor, and indiscretion could get them both killed, considering Remus was not yet considered loyal. "Your leg, does it feel any better? Has the potion helped?"

Remus waved a hand in front of his face, dismissing the question. "She's dead, isn't she?"

"Who?"

Finally, Remus tilted his face so he could make eye contact with Severus. Someone, perhaps Narcissa, had siphoned the blood off of him and dressed him in fresh robes - Severus rather doubted the man had taken the initiative and done so himself - but he still looked imposing, something both more and less than human. "The woman. Professor -- Sybill."

"Yes." Severus nodded once, crisply. He lowered himself into the other chair, studying Remus' face, which had a curious, closed expression. Severus had expected to see the other man display agony on his features, or perhaps to cry, but Remus' face remained blank, which was almost more frightening.

"I suppose I knew that," he said, turning back towards the window. The view he had longed for was displayed fully to him now, a reward for his service, as Lucius Malfoy had euphemistically called the act of killing. He could see down to the sweeping lawn with its lush hedges, and the black iron gate and fencing on the very edge of the property, which kept away the unsuspecting and dangerous, but the grounds did not interest him very much any more. No desire to run free beat within him. He found himself drawn to the sun, which was swollen red with death like the moon in late October sometimes was, heavy and slow on the horizon. It was the colour of blood. "There was so much blood. I felt her heartbeat slow. She stopped fighting me, after a while."

Severus shook his head, deflecting the comments. "Lupin," he barked, harsher. "Your leg. Has the potion helped at all? I've applied dittany, but it could do with a bit more."

Ignoring this, Remus frowned into the blazing ruby sky. "Do you think she knew it was me? In my place, do you think she would have chosen to kill me?"

"This melancholia must stop!" demanded Severus abruptly, his voice rising. Remus' head jerked towards him again, his eyes wide with surprise at the tone. "You cannot continue mourning over a dead woman, especially one you scarcely knew. Nothing you do can help her now. We can't very well bring her back, so do pull yourself together, Lupin, and stop this infernal whining." A bit surprised with himself, he nodded, as if to confirm he had meant what he had said. "Sybill Trelawney is dead. You are still alive. You must pull yourself out of this grief and think of your own survival. Now, you had a deep cut on your leg, no doubt a self-inflicted bite. I tried various potions, but werewolf bites are notoriously difficult to heal. Has there been any improvement?"

Startled, Remus gestured vaguely towards his trousers. "It hurts somewhat, not intolerably."

"I brought some dittany for you, there," Severus answered, somewhat calmed. He pointed to the phials on the table. "You can apply it yourself, directly on the injury. The red potion is for pain, the blue for sleep. Take them as necessary. I trust you remember enough from your O.W.L. class with Professor Slughorn to manage that?"

Remus nodded.

"Good."

"What about Ginny?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Ginny?"

"She's -- she's still alive, isn't she?" Remus went rigid again, staring with forceful concentration at the window. The sky was growing darker, and the first stars were visible, flaring cold white points of light an impossible distance away. "They didn't kill her, did they?"

Remembering Lucius' threat, Severus shook his head. "She's fine."

"Where is she?"

"Below," he answered vaguely, grimacing. The girl had been in a right state when he had gone down to the cells to check on her. At first, he had thought she was not even there, but then he had finally spotted her, curled up near the corner of the room between the bench and the wall, having knocked the bucket aside. It had been clear she had wanted to hide, and feared being dragged away by Bellatrix or one of the other Death Eaters.

Once he had finally coaxed her out, Severus had told Ginny about Remus; what had been done to him, what he had done. He had guessed one of the crueller of their number, perhaps Bellatrix, would taunt Ginny with the truth of what Remus had been forced into, and he wanted her prepared, though of course, in describing the incident, he had not mentioned that Ginny's own life had been part of the bargain. She had cried so loud that he had nearly been forced to shout, assuring the girl that Remus was being taken care of, but even though she had finally fallen silent, Severus doubted whether she had heard his reassurances. Even if she had understood him, Severus did not supposed she had believed him, because she had crawled back over to the corner, shaking and afraid, tears still streaming down her face.

"My son?"

"He is not being kept here any longer. Greyback has taken him, to the werewolf quarters; Narcissa has insisted that his lot be kept out of the mansion after an attack on the grounds last full moon. She fears for her son, when he arrives home at last. Don't worry," Severus added, trying to disguise his bitterness. "I'm sure he is safe."

"Are you?" Remus did not wait for an answer before continuing. "I was told I could see him. It's the full moon day after tomorrow, isn't it? Lucius Malfoy said I could have Teddy with me, so I could be there to help him during his first transformation."

Severus sighed. "Lucius has permitted Greyback to keep him, for the time being."

"But I did what they wanted," said Remus, showing a little life. In the new fallen darkness, his eyes were reflective, like a cat's. "I killed her, as they required."

"Not without prompting, and threats," answered Severus. "They don't trust you. They fear you will try to escape once you have the boy, or that you might kill him, to ensure he does not become a follower of Voldemort," Severus said. "I know," he added, as Remus looked outraged. "I told them you would do no such thing, but they are unconvinced. They want more proof of loyalty."

Remus wrapped his arms around himself. "I won't kill again. Not for them, not for anyone."

"And if they threaten you with the girl's life?"

Shaking his head, Remus covered his face. "They can't. I can't do it! Not even for her...and once I say yes, they'll never stop, will they? Every new task, every new terrible deed, they will threaten Ginny's life until I consent. She will never be safe and I'll never be free, isn't that so? No," he went on, more forcefully. "I won't kill. I don't want to be responsible for another death, ever again, even if it means saving someone I -- I love." The words seemed to startle him, and he touched his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, remembering kisses. It had not been so long ago, but it felt like several lifetimes since he had held her.

Awed at this revelation, Severus nonetheless attempted a look of pure calm. "You may not have a choice," he said, very softly. It was not his silky, malicious voice in which he spoke, but a richer tone, almost warm, as though he felt some kind of emotion which, in fact, he did. "They have forbidden me to give you the Wolfsbane during the moonrise. You will transform, tomorrow night, and they have plans." He winced at Remus' expression, and silently began applying the dittany to Remus' wound himself, wishing he could communicate his consolation through touch as the werewolf covered his face in apprehension at the information.