Disclaimer: The characters represented in this story belong to their creator, J.K. Rowling and who else has their claim to the 'Harry Potter' universe.
Warnings: Slash and angst ahead. Also, there's a slightly disturbing bit (at least to me) in the flashback. Nothing too graphic.
Also, I apologize for the amount of time this chapter has taken. My muse is a tricky little spit. Between Kali (my muse) and Bob (my invisible best demon friend who lives in the backseat of my car), I think my sanity's gone. Not to mention I go back to college in just over a week, and am taking two writing courses. Hmm… I wonder if my prose professor will let me hand in Harry Potter slash for a grade? Muah ha ha.
And to waste more time, woo! Jem's going to be on DVD! And I'm happy! Woo! Yes, I'm a geek. : P
Chapter 11: Requiem
-
Severus sat at the bar of the small club, his cloak pulled tightly around him. The music around him was nearly ear shatteringly loud; the base rang in his ears like an exaggerated heartbeat. The drink in front of him stood full, water beading on the glass and dripping onto the wooden bar.
He hated waiting for people.
He unconsciously shifted his cloaks, making sure that his left arm was covered before reaching a steady hand out to his drink. He dipped one thin finger into the brass colored liquid, bringing the liquor covered finger to his mouth. Severus licked it off for a moment before scowling as a man sat down beside him.
"Fancy seeing you here, Snape."
Severus quirked a brow at the short, slightly soft-in-the-middle man before speaking. "Yes, fancy that."
"They sent me to make sure you made it." The man lowered his voice so low that Severus had to strain to hear it through the music. "The Dark Lord missed your presence last night."
"I couldn't make it…"
"And why is that? What makes you so special that you can blatantly ignore an order from our Lord?" Peter Pettigrew asked, taking Severus's drink in his own pudgy fingers, swallowing it in two gulps. Severus glared at him, though it was nothing new. He had a very hard time believing that the former Marauder was now a member of Voldemort's ranks, and his contempt that was left over from their school days together had never quite faded.
"It is really none of your business, you little rat." A mischievous glimmer struck Pettigrew's eye, giving Severus the urge to hit him. "If the Dark Lord wants to know my reasons, he can ask me. He doesn't need to send his lowest ranking followers to play babysitter."
"You realize that if I tell him what you just said, he might kill you?" Severus nodded his head slowly. "Either way, I was to collect you as well. He wants to speak to you."
"Fine, give me a moment to use the bathroom, will you? Or is my babysitter going to have to accompany me there as well?" Severus sneered.
Pettigrew's eyes narrowed as his face pinked slightly. "You've got five minutes."
Severus nodded curtly before standing up and tossing several large coins onto the bar. He made his way carefully to the back of the bar and into the bathroom. He sealed the door with two spells, one to block out any noise that he'd make, and one to make sure that no one could enter.
He went over to the sink, turning on the cold tap. He placed his hands into the flow of water, allowing it to saturate his hands. He brought his now cooled hands up to his face and neck, wiping the water onto his too warm body. Severus cast a critical stare into the mirror above the sink.
Severus ran a hand through his hair; it fell several inches below his shoulders, an onyx wave of hair. 'This is getting to be too much… I'm sick of playing both sides… Teaching at Hogwarts during the day and being a 'faithful follower' to Voldemort at night.
'Not to mention that the man's losing his sodding mind. His goals before were simply to make sure that witches and wizards were supreme, but now…? All the bastard's doing is killing and torturing whoever pisses him off, no matter if they're muggles or magic folk alike. He's killing everyone from small, muggle, children to adult wizards, who simply don't see things from his point of view…
'I've been a member of his circle for how many years now? Six? Hell, I only joined so I could get revenge for mum and Sera. Now I'm saddled to this crazy prick forever? I'm twenty two fucking years old, and I'm stuck with a madman on one side and Lucius Malfoy on the other.'
Severus sighed at his reflection, bringing a tired hand up to the mirror.
"C'mon, Snape. We're late." Pettigrew's sausage fingers rapped wildly against the bathroom door, causing a snarl to escape Severus's lips.
"Go to Hell, toad." Severus tore the door open, his face set in what his students considered his 'most terrifying' look. Severus didn't understand exactly why they thought it was, but he didn't argue. His face remained slightly passive, though his eyes fumed with anger and annoyance. Severus grimaced to himself. 'They've not seen anything yet.'
Severus walked out of the club, his head held high. He had to keep himself from snickering as Pettigrew attempted to keep pace with him.
The two wizards apparated to Voldemort, green smoke surrounding their forms. Severus glanced at the woods around him before bowing deeply toward the back of the black-cloaked man in front of him.
"And where were you last night, Snape? Are you now too good to report to me, as everyone else does?" Voldemort hissed, his fingers working furiously on a stone table set in front of him. Severus strained his eyes to see what he was doing, but couldn't see.
"I beg your forgiveness, my lord." Severus said, his voice even. "I could not escape Hogwarts without my presence being missed. There was a meeting with the rest of the staff. I couldn't leave the grounds without Dumbledore getting suspicious."
"I see…" Voldemort said, finally turning towards Severus. "Come here, Severus."
Severus walked the few feet to Voldemort, his eyes cast to the ground. "Yes, Master?"
Voldemort gestured to the table with one skeletal hand. It takes everything Severus has to not vomit at the site before him. A small, more likely than not muggle, baby lay dead on the table. Severus felt dizzy at the sight of the small child spread out on the table like a Christmas ham.
"A present, Severus… The final ingredient of the Les Esclave de la Nuit potion." He pointed towards a tiny liver in a glass jar next to the child. "A single drop of this potion will have anyone become my slave: they'll not need to eat or sleep. They'll hold no thought other than to serve me, to please me."
"I expect it to be finished by tomorrow evening."
"Yes, sir. Of course." Voldemort handed the young Death Eater the glass jar. Severus slid the jar carefully into his satchel before bowing once more to Voldemort. His mind whirled as he apparated back towards Hogwarts.
Severus walked past the apparation borders of Hogwarts, finding Professor Dumbledore standing just outside the main doors, speaking in light tones to Professor McGonagall. The weight of the jar in his bag grew exponentially as he got closer to his former professors.
"Ah, good evening, Severus." Dumbledore said, his eyes glowing. McGonagall said her goodbyes quickly, leaving Severus alone with the elder wizard.
"Hello, Professor." Severus's gaze fell to his feet, his mouth running ahead of his mind. "I… I need to talk to you. About Voldemort."
-
I stand outside of Severus's rooms for a moment, my hands shoved deep in my pockets. I do not want to leave Severus alone with that man, but I've no choice. Everything was going great, but now he has to show up. Is this some form of Karmic thing? Sirius is dead, I mourn. I find happiness, or some semblance of it, with Severus, and now he could be torn away from me in the space of a single afternoon.
I turn on my heel away from the rooms, opting to walk away while I can. If Lucius came out and found me spying on them, I'd be hexed horribly. Hell, if Severus found me spying…
What phrasing… Spying… That's what got us into this problem in the first place. If Severus weren't spying for the Order, he would never be forced to cooperate with that slime. But then again, if he'd stopped spying, the side of the light would've probably had our asses handed to us by now. I don't know if anybody actually realizes all that Severus risks. Every time he apparates to a meeting with Voldemort, he risks never coming back, he risks mental and physical torture… He risks his soul, corny as that sounds.
I shake my head and head back down to the kitchens, if just to keep myself busy. I don't think that I could handle sitting and chatting with Dumbledore, and I don't fancy running into that prat Lucius's bastard son.
Unfortunately, the fates aren't flying by my side today. Just as I'm about to tickle the pear, who rounds the corner but Malfoy and his followers; I walk into the kitchens before I'm tempted to punish the boy, if for no other reason than being born. I don't care if he's a 15-year-old child who doesn't even know that his father was at one point screwing his potions master.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and temper. Gods, what that man does to my mood. Up, down, up, down.
I shoo away several house elves, opting to simply take some coffee back to my own chambers. I close and lock the doors to my room before sitting down on the couch and lighting a fire with my wand, grasping the large mug of caffeine infused liquid in my hands, letting the heat permeate my digits. My rooms may not be in the dungeon, but they're not in Gryffindor tower, either. I don't know how such a magic filled castle is always so damned cold.
Attempting to keep my mind off of Severus (and Lucius), I drain the last bit of coffee from the cup and set it down on the table next to me. I summon my sketchpad and charcoals to me and pull a wooden board out from beneath the couch. I tear a piece of the massive paper and attach it to the board before pulling a fresh piece of charcoal from the box.
I close my eyes so tight that white spots appear behind my eyelids, waiting for inspiration to overtake me. I put the coal to the paper, and am surprised by the passion that fill my fingers and my mind. My fingers fly across the page; my nails are blackened by the black dust.
When I finally look, really look, at the paper, I'm fairly shocked by what's flown out of my mind and onto the formerly white page. It's Sirius.
Well, not just Sirius. It's him, sitting on a blanket over looking the rippling lake, smiling alongside James. The paper and coals are charmed to make whatever is drawn with them move, like photographs in the wizarding world.
Sirius picks up an odd apple from the ground and takes a bite or two from it. James releases, and catches, a tiny little snitch that he pulled from the pockets of his Hogwarts robes.
If I was shocked to see Sirius and James staring back at me, I'm flabbergasted by the lone figure that sits in the background. The child has black hair, shorn to just above his shoulders. He turns around to look at Siri and James every once and a while, as if afraid and annoyed at the same time. It's Sev.
Gods, I can't even escape Severus when I'm drawing.
I set the paper and board down and toss the charcoals to the floor; they shatter upon impact. I groan and swear before pulling out my wand and charming them back together, cleaning up the black, dusty mess as well. I tear the paper from the board and walk over to the fire. I stare down at the paper and watch the three boys on it. The drawing isn't terribly detailed, but I can still see the (fairly well hidden) fear on Severus's face every time Sirius glances his way.
I sigh deeply, brushing my hand by the too small figure of Severus, and a tear comes to my eye. I bend down to the fire and place the picture in it. Sirius looks slightly cross as the flames lick at the paper, but James looks pleasant, a wise smile on his face. James waves at me before the fire consumes the paper completely. I can't bear to look at Severus.
The fire burns down quickly, being magically started with very little actual fuel to keep it alive. I finally glance over at the small clock that sits on the mantel above the fireplace.
It's only been and hour and a half since I left Severus and Malfoy alone together. I pace back and forth across the room before now looking at the clock on my wrist. I swear again, this time far more loudly than I really intend to. I glance sheepishly to the mirror on the wall.
"Young man… Such language…" The mirror admonishes me, its voice quiet and feminine; it reminds me of my grandmother's voice. I blush slightly at the fact that I've just been 'told off' in a sense, but a mirror. Gods, the four founders must have had a field day designing this place and what's in it.
"Sorry…"
The mirror 'hmphs' at me as I walk out the door, my mind set more on getting down to Severus's rooms than apologizing to talking mirrors.
-
To be continued…
A/N: I'm debating writing next issue from Severus's point of view, about what happens between he and Lucius during their 'meeting.' I know it's a departure from eleven chapters worth of story from Remus's telling, but it's just an idea. What do my faithful readers think? : )
Also, Les Esclave de la Nuit is a horribly butchered way of saying 'The Slaves of the Night.' There's a reason I nearly failed French.