After Snape's figure disappeared into the flames, Moody turned to
Dumbledore.
"I don't understand why you trust that - that murderer, Albus," he growled, magical eye spinning, "but in the future keep your pet Death Eater on a tighter leash."
Dumbledore gazed archly at the grizzled Auror and said blandly, "What I see here is a clear case of the pot calling the kettle black." He turned to the other Order members. "I think that this has been quite enough for now. I have several things to do while it is still light out, and I am sure you do as well. Good day, and good luck. Alastor, would you remain for a moment?"
Remus Lupin slipped out of the kitchen and headed up the dark stairs toward his room. He didn't have anything in particular to do for an hour, and he was more than a little rattled by the confrontation between the ex-Auror and the ex-Death Eater. After pulling the dusty curtains away from his high windows, he pushed open the door to his tiny kitchen and filled his kettle.
As his hands traveled the familiar path to a good pot of tea, he brooded over the day's events. Everything had, he supposed, begun at noon, when Dumbledore had shown up for the weekly meeting of the Order. He had asked Remus to "please inform Severus that his cheerful presence is required," and then left for a good hour.
Filled with trepidation, Remus had flooed Snape in his dungeon office, where Dumbledore had said Snape would most likely be. As soon as the fireplace announced his presence, Snape had thrown something into the drawer of his desk.
The usual snarkiness had followed, and Remus would have forgotten the incident if he had not smelled the desperate fear and longing rolling off of the black haired man and seen the sweat on Snape's sallow brow when he tripped and fell onto Remus while exiting the fireplace.
That, combined with Snape's uncharacteristic sharpness toward McGonagall, whom he usually treated with respect, and the sudden escalation of hostility and loss of control in the face of Moody's usual digs and taunting, left Remus oddly nervous for the dark man's mental state.
The teakettle interrupted his thoughts with a sharp whistle, and he pulled down a teacup and the box of tea.
********* He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, clumsy with haste. He paused, though, when he ran the fingers of his right hand along the pale blue vein along the inside of his arm.
Beneath the malignant rictus of the Dark Mark began an old line of scars tracing the path of blood. Regular and precise, they marched down to where the veins became too small to pierce accurately before giving up that blood lode and returning to the elbow and beginning again. The realization that he was losing control, relapsing, stopped him dead.
You weak bastard, no control, you know what happens when you lose control. Bad things happen when you aren't in control.
But this is so I don't lose control, so that I don't use an Unforgivable because my nerve snapped.
Do you truly think that this will make any difference, that the desire and the memories will go away for long?
No, but I'll make do with a few hours without them...
He watched in sick anticipation as his hand delicately picked up the syringe and his left arm flexed. A tiny drop of liquid at the end of the needle caught the firelight, and he could see the milky narcotic swirling through the clear liquid.
Are you really going to let a chemical control your life again?
He felt every muscle in his body tense in anticipation and a sudden fear that the drop would fall and be lost to the uncaring desk blotter.
Why not? It's just one more thing...
The needle slipped painlessly into the soft skin of his inner forearm and pierced the exposed vein. The fluid entering his bloodstream chilled the flesh and he could feel it moving up his arm and toward his chest.
Come on, come on, yes, yes, yesyesyes...
It hit his brain with a sharp tingling thud at the base of his skull and the room lurched around him, darkening and then lightening. The throbbing hum grew heavier and heavier until it seemed to suck his whole body inwards before suddenly exploding with a tremendous rush that scattered his mind and obliterated his senses.
*********
Remus paced his small set of rooms in the old Black house. Something about Snape's scent had truly disturbed him, leaving him edgy and unnerved. His feet carried him along a circuit through the bedroom, parlor, the small kitchen, and back.
Finally, disgusted with himself, he placed his hand on the worn brass knob of the door and pushed out into the third story corridor. The dark hall was musty despite Mrs. Weasley's dedicated dusting, and a sneeze forced its way out of Remus' sensitive nose. He strode across the corridor and down the creaking stairs and paused to grab his well-darned cloak. Once out the door and in the fresh air, his mood improved and he was able to focus. A fortunate occurrence, he thought wryly as he cast a scentless charm over himself, since I am about to go meet that Gloucester Pack leader. Once beyond the bounds of the unplottable charm, Remus apparated in a puff of summer dust.
*********
His eyes drifted closed as he savored the deep, warm well being and contentment that settled like a lead apron across his thoughts. He tried to lift a hand to push the hair off of his face, but he couldn't find where his arm ended and gave up trying. This's good shit...
The world was much easier to deal with when his greatest concern was finding where his arm had left his hand. No Cruciatus, no mad, vindictive dark wizards espousing diseased, decadent ideals, no duplicity or fear or anxiety or stupid, imbecilic students bent on blowing themselves up where their deaths could be blamed on him. No ghosts or memories or misgivings.... He slowly slipped into a peaceful drugged sleep, mind blissfully empty and void of thought.
*********
The entrance to the pub was in Muggle London, and appeared to be a shabby, perpetually closed, curious anachronism to non-magical passers-by. To Remus, however, the Plow in the Stars was filled to bursting with unsavory characters gulping equally dubious liquor.
He crossed the worn doorstep and put his hand on the door's greasy handle. The door itself was painted with what might once have been a dark, forest green, and Remus could almost make out the shape of a plow and nine stars traced in gilt on the warped wood and peeling paint. He pushed it open and was greeted by the deep throbbing bass notes of Muggle techno music.
The interior was a muggy inferno of smoke, shouting, and the almost overpowering scent of sour beer. The noise, smell, darkness, and frenzied movement momentarily disoriented him, and he stumbled backwards into the rough edge of a bench. After a few moments he was able to see a method to the madness - a long bar slouched against the far wall, and heavy tables partnered with low benches radiated outward from it. Wizards and witches alike ate, gambled, danced, drank, and smoked, and a brawl appeared to have broken out in one corner.
The moldy sawdust spread across the splintering floorboards, combined with the thick pall of smoke, was quickly making Remus nauseous but he understood that this was the perfect place to have a confidential conversation. If they could hear each other, that is.
He looked around. The Gloucester pack leader had said that they would be meeting at the table farthest from the bar, and to look for someone with a blue bandanna. Well, there was the bar, there was the furthest corner.... He inched through the reeking, rumbling crush of humanity.
*********
Snape stood unsteadily, the base of his scull throbbing dully in time with the ache in his arm. He couldn't quite get his eyes to focus, and was about to collapse back down onto the couch when the knock came again.
"Who the bloody hell is it and why are they still banging on my sodding door?!" he groaned as he finally did slump back down. "I'm not getting up so you might as well sod off," he mumbled into the couch.
"Severus, it's me, Albus. May I have a few words?"
Snape searched groggily for a reason for the Headmaster to call at his door. He hadn't slept through a class, had he? What day is it? A heavy mist obscured his thoughts and obstructed mental clarity. He had started falling back asleep when the knocking came again.
"I would like to speak to you about this afternoon. I still have your wand, if you would care to retrieve it..." The Headmaster was starting to sound worried. Damnation.
"I think I'm..." it took a moment for his fuzzy brain to come up with an excuse, "....coming down with something. Please leave me alone." His head ached and he thought longingly of the bottle of gin in his kitchen before beginning to drift away again.
"Let me take you to see Poppy then, I'm sure she has something for you," cajoled the Headmaster's voice. Snape could barely take it any more.
"I'm the bloody potions master at this school, I think I can make something myself! Sir." Maybe a little scotch, too, and some licorice...
"Severus Snape, you are not allowed to not take care of yourself. Let me just come in, and -"
Tha's right! Just force your way in, eh?" He didn't even worrying that his cockney accent was showing through. "Can' a man ever get some res' aroun' 'ere?!" he sobbed into the couch. This was just too much.
"Alright, Severus. But I expect you at dinner in the staffroom." His words were lost to Snape who had slipped back into unconsciousness.
*********
Remus saw Dumbledore coming up from the dungeons and trotted up to intercept him.
"Albus, I just finished talking to the Gloucester pack leader. She says that she'll consider the offer, and that she commends you for having hired me for a year." He paused to catch his breath and looked into the Headmaster's warm blue eyes. "What's wrong, Albus?" An icy fist grabbed his gut and his mind began playing over various scenarios, each worse than its predecessor. Dumbledore chuckled.
"Nothing serious, my friend. I was just down to speak with our ever cheerful Potions master, and he refused to either come out or let me in." He sighed and pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles higher on his long, crooked nose. "But that is not what you came all the way to Hogwarts to talk to me about. Please tell me, how was my old friend Raksha Mahu?"
"I don't understand why you trust that - that murderer, Albus," he growled, magical eye spinning, "but in the future keep your pet Death Eater on a tighter leash."
Dumbledore gazed archly at the grizzled Auror and said blandly, "What I see here is a clear case of the pot calling the kettle black." He turned to the other Order members. "I think that this has been quite enough for now. I have several things to do while it is still light out, and I am sure you do as well. Good day, and good luck. Alastor, would you remain for a moment?"
Remus Lupin slipped out of the kitchen and headed up the dark stairs toward his room. He didn't have anything in particular to do for an hour, and he was more than a little rattled by the confrontation between the ex-Auror and the ex-Death Eater. After pulling the dusty curtains away from his high windows, he pushed open the door to his tiny kitchen and filled his kettle.
As his hands traveled the familiar path to a good pot of tea, he brooded over the day's events. Everything had, he supposed, begun at noon, when Dumbledore had shown up for the weekly meeting of the Order. He had asked Remus to "please inform Severus that his cheerful presence is required," and then left for a good hour.
Filled with trepidation, Remus had flooed Snape in his dungeon office, where Dumbledore had said Snape would most likely be. As soon as the fireplace announced his presence, Snape had thrown something into the drawer of his desk.
The usual snarkiness had followed, and Remus would have forgotten the incident if he had not smelled the desperate fear and longing rolling off of the black haired man and seen the sweat on Snape's sallow brow when he tripped and fell onto Remus while exiting the fireplace.
That, combined with Snape's uncharacteristic sharpness toward McGonagall, whom he usually treated with respect, and the sudden escalation of hostility and loss of control in the face of Moody's usual digs and taunting, left Remus oddly nervous for the dark man's mental state.
The teakettle interrupted his thoughts with a sharp whistle, and he pulled down a teacup and the box of tea.
********* He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, clumsy with haste. He paused, though, when he ran the fingers of his right hand along the pale blue vein along the inside of his arm.
Beneath the malignant rictus of the Dark Mark began an old line of scars tracing the path of blood. Regular and precise, they marched down to where the veins became too small to pierce accurately before giving up that blood lode and returning to the elbow and beginning again. The realization that he was losing control, relapsing, stopped him dead.
You weak bastard, no control, you know what happens when you lose control. Bad things happen when you aren't in control.
But this is so I don't lose control, so that I don't use an Unforgivable because my nerve snapped.
Do you truly think that this will make any difference, that the desire and the memories will go away for long?
No, but I'll make do with a few hours without them...
He watched in sick anticipation as his hand delicately picked up the syringe and his left arm flexed. A tiny drop of liquid at the end of the needle caught the firelight, and he could see the milky narcotic swirling through the clear liquid.
Are you really going to let a chemical control your life again?
He felt every muscle in his body tense in anticipation and a sudden fear that the drop would fall and be lost to the uncaring desk blotter.
Why not? It's just one more thing...
The needle slipped painlessly into the soft skin of his inner forearm and pierced the exposed vein. The fluid entering his bloodstream chilled the flesh and he could feel it moving up his arm and toward his chest.
Come on, come on, yes, yes, yesyesyes...
It hit his brain with a sharp tingling thud at the base of his skull and the room lurched around him, darkening and then lightening. The throbbing hum grew heavier and heavier until it seemed to suck his whole body inwards before suddenly exploding with a tremendous rush that scattered his mind and obliterated his senses.
*********
Remus paced his small set of rooms in the old Black house. Something about Snape's scent had truly disturbed him, leaving him edgy and unnerved. His feet carried him along a circuit through the bedroom, parlor, the small kitchen, and back.
Finally, disgusted with himself, he placed his hand on the worn brass knob of the door and pushed out into the third story corridor. The dark hall was musty despite Mrs. Weasley's dedicated dusting, and a sneeze forced its way out of Remus' sensitive nose. He strode across the corridor and down the creaking stairs and paused to grab his well-darned cloak. Once out the door and in the fresh air, his mood improved and he was able to focus. A fortunate occurrence, he thought wryly as he cast a scentless charm over himself, since I am about to go meet that Gloucester Pack leader. Once beyond the bounds of the unplottable charm, Remus apparated in a puff of summer dust.
*********
His eyes drifted closed as he savored the deep, warm well being and contentment that settled like a lead apron across his thoughts. He tried to lift a hand to push the hair off of his face, but he couldn't find where his arm ended and gave up trying. This's good shit...
The world was much easier to deal with when his greatest concern was finding where his arm had left his hand. No Cruciatus, no mad, vindictive dark wizards espousing diseased, decadent ideals, no duplicity or fear or anxiety or stupid, imbecilic students bent on blowing themselves up where their deaths could be blamed on him. No ghosts or memories or misgivings.... He slowly slipped into a peaceful drugged sleep, mind blissfully empty and void of thought.
*********
The entrance to the pub was in Muggle London, and appeared to be a shabby, perpetually closed, curious anachronism to non-magical passers-by. To Remus, however, the Plow in the Stars was filled to bursting with unsavory characters gulping equally dubious liquor.
He crossed the worn doorstep and put his hand on the door's greasy handle. The door itself was painted with what might once have been a dark, forest green, and Remus could almost make out the shape of a plow and nine stars traced in gilt on the warped wood and peeling paint. He pushed it open and was greeted by the deep throbbing bass notes of Muggle techno music.
The interior was a muggy inferno of smoke, shouting, and the almost overpowering scent of sour beer. The noise, smell, darkness, and frenzied movement momentarily disoriented him, and he stumbled backwards into the rough edge of a bench. After a few moments he was able to see a method to the madness - a long bar slouched against the far wall, and heavy tables partnered with low benches radiated outward from it. Wizards and witches alike ate, gambled, danced, drank, and smoked, and a brawl appeared to have broken out in one corner.
The moldy sawdust spread across the splintering floorboards, combined with the thick pall of smoke, was quickly making Remus nauseous but he understood that this was the perfect place to have a confidential conversation. If they could hear each other, that is.
He looked around. The Gloucester pack leader had said that they would be meeting at the table farthest from the bar, and to look for someone with a blue bandanna. Well, there was the bar, there was the furthest corner.... He inched through the reeking, rumbling crush of humanity.
*********
Snape stood unsteadily, the base of his scull throbbing dully in time with the ache in his arm. He couldn't quite get his eyes to focus, and was about to collapse back down onto the couch when the knock came again.
"Who the bloody hell is it and why are they still banging on my sodding door?!" he groaned as he finally did slump back down. "I'm not getting up so you might as well sod off," he mumbled into the couch.
"Severus, it's me, Albus. May I have a few words?"
Snape searched groggily for a reason for the Headmaster to call at his door. He hadn't slept through a class, had he? What day is it? A heavy mist obscured his thoughts and obstructed mental clarity. He had started falling back asleep when the knocking came again.
"I would like to speak to you about this afternoon. I still have your wand, if you would care to retrieve it..." The Headmaster was starting to sound worried. Damnation.
"I think I'm..." it took a moment for his fuzzy brain to come up with an excuse, "....coming down with something. Please leave me alone." His head ached and he thought longingly of the bottle of gin in his kitchen before beginning to drift away again.
"Let me take you to see Poppy then, I'm sure she has something for you," cajoled the Headmaster's voice. Snape could barely take it any more.
"I'm the bloody potions master at this school, I think I can make something myself! Sir." Maybe a little scotch, too, and some licorice...
"Severus Snape, you are not allowed to not take care of yourself. Let me just come in, and -"
Tha's right! Just force your way in, eh?" He didn't even worrying that his cockney accent was showing through. "Can' a man ever get some res' aroun' 'ere?!" he sobbed into the couch. This was just too much.
"Alright, Severus. But I expect you at dinner in the staffroom." His words were lost to Snape who had slipped back into unconsciousness.
*********
Remus saw Dumbledore coming up from the dungeons and trotted up to intercept him.
"Albus, I just finished talking to the Gloucester pack leader. She says that she'll consider the offer, and that she commends you for having hired me for a year." He paused to catch his breath and looked into the Headmaster's warm blue eyes. "What's wrong, Albus?" An icy fist grabbed his gut and his mind began playing over various scenarios, each worse than its predecessor. Dumbledore chuckled.
"Nothing serious, my friend. I was just down to speak with our ever cheerful Potions master, and he refused to either come out or let me in." He sighed and pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles higher on his long, crooked nose. "But that is not what you came all the way to Hogwarts to talk to me about. Please tell me, how was my old friend Raksha Mahu?"