And If that Diamond Ring Turns Brass
Broken Lullabies Arch; Line C
- Vain
03.08 – 06.15.2003


Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot. Harry Potter and all the elements therein are the intellectual property / registered trademarks of JK Rowling, Scholastic Books, and Warner Brothers. I am not profiting from this.

Warnings: HARD R Rating. AU, slash, angst, language, and Sev being generally creepy. What else do I write about? No sex, though.

Continuity: This is the 3rd in the Broken Lullabies Arch and occurs after Hush, Little Baby and Don't Say A Word.


Stanza Three
And If That Diamond Ring Turns Brass


" 'And the more I see
Pleasures about me, so much more I feel
Torment within me, as from a hateful siege
Of contraries; all good to me becomes
Bane, and in Heav'n much worse would be my state.' "

Paradise Lost; Book IX, 119 - 123
- John Milton


Black frowns at me. Looking as though he knows something. I suddenly have the perverse urge to start capering around and chanting, "You don't know what I did! You don't know what I did!" and I choke on a snicker, turning it into a very fake cough. He scowls and I barely resist the urge to smirk at him. The scowl turns into a full-blown glare. I remain unimpressed.

From his perch on my worktable, Lupin watches our silent exchange with amusement. I send a dark sneer the werewolf's way. Frightening as the thought is, the two of them have remarkably good chemistry together, each balancing out the other's flaws. Still, being locked in a room alone with a murdering psychotic and an unbalanced werewolf, half moon or not, is not how I would prefer to spend my Saturday evenings.

I turn, self-consciously feeling my spine stiffen on reflex, and scowl at a wall of shelves. A low, dull throbbing has formed behind my eyes. I've felt odd lately—off center. Wispy, see-through, and thin. I can't quite place my finger on what's wrong, though. And I've been getting headaches almost hourly.

Whenever I think of you, actually.

I close my eyes against the pain and pinched the bridge of my nose in consternation as the wolf begins to chatter.

"Thank you for the Wolfsbane, Severus."

I inwardly flinch at his familiarity, despite the fact that I should be used to it by now. He's always been sickeningly polite to me since . . . That Night. I've always chalked it up to guilt and ignored it.

Sometimes I wonder if he really knows what that potion really does to him—if he understands the price he's paying and has yet to pay for a few hours of sanity . . . I know that Black doesn't. If he did, he'd have my head for systematically poisoning the furbag. But I have an excuse. The wolf asks for it. Literally.

I'm beginning to notice a disturbing trend in that what I used to refer to as justifications have now become "excuses." Not that it really matters to anyone but me.

"Severus?"

I do, however, wonder what you would say. Should it upset me that you have become the standard by which I now measure myself? Every thought and action held up to your bright light?

And as he faced the sun he cast no sha—

"Severus!"

I jump, reflexively jerking my arm away from the unfamiliar touch. The scent of earth and shadows and nighttime is heavy next to me and I glare at Lupin for daring to invade my kinosphere. Intrusive, classmate-attacking bastard.

Amber-brown eyes wrinkle in what can only be worry as I take another few steps back, desperate to put more space between myself and his airy, cloying scent. He smells nothing like you.

"Are you alright, Severus?"

Of course I am. My head hurts fit to burst, but I'm fine. I'm always fine. Why should he care anyway? Does it matter if I'm not fine? No. Nothing will change.

A blinding shaft of pain seems to slice my head in two and my right hand clenches into a fist before I can stop myself.

"You blanked out for a moment there."

Did I? I turn away and bite the tip of my tongue for a moment. "Kindly refrain from touching me until you've gotten your pet properly flea-dipped, Lupin." My tone makes up for the weakness of the insult.

I feel more than hear his sigh of resignation. Good. Nosey lycanthrope.

Black growls audibly, reminding me of what I was looking for. A knife. Right. Focus, Snape.

"Let him alone, Remy. It's just Snape being Snape."

Black must have taken lessons on snark in Azkaban. Not that he's actually managed to insult me. Or perhaps he simply never had the brain capacity to manage a scathing tone before. No doubt he was too busy trying to kill his peers and then blame it on his friends.

Strange. When he's not around I almost manage to forget the depth of loathing I have for the mutt. How can you bear to be near him?

Merlin, I miss you.

"Siri, be nice." Lupin manages to sound like a mother scolding a child. "Severus is very kind to spend so much of his time on these potions for us."

Oh, yes. Look at me. I exude the sentiments of peace on earth and goodwill towards men. It absolutely spews from my pores.

Black opens his mouth again and I can literally feel the intellectual level in the room teeter precariously before slowly beginning to fall . . . "Re—"

And he mercifully shuts up as someone knocks on the door. A light, tentative knock. So soft. Only one person would sound like that.

"What!" I bark, almost daring to hope that it's not you. Surely, Albus didn't—

But then the door opens and Albus obviously did because there you are: eyes seemingly a bit shuttered behind those ridiculous spectacles that make them look so unnaturally large and pale face pinched slightly into an expression of wary caution. Your eyes flicker to me for a moment and you look ready to retreat as I level a ferocious scowl in your direction.

But you don't, instead choosing to inch into my labs a bit more. The fireworks display of pain behind my eyes fades to strobe light intensity. Two points to Gryffindor for sheer stupidity. "Excuse me, sir—"

"Harry!"

And then Black bounds over to the door and seizes you in what can only be a suffocating embrace. For a moment you look stupidly, endearingly, bewildered and then you grin and hug him back. Your expression makes me shiver.

I wonder what they would do if I simply jumped you right now. Black could very well die of shock, but Lupin would either kill me, leave, or watch. I can never be sure with him—he's more unpredictable than a pregnant woman, especially when the moon is waxing. He always manages to put up a normal front for you, though. More of your special magic, I suppose. He's better now that Black's back. It makes me wonder how much of his lunacy was the wolf and how much was the strain of being so alone for so long. Yes, he's much, much, much better now that Black is back. Almost like a human. Somehow, that makes me feel . . . pleased.

No one should be left alone like he was. I hate him for what's happened, but no one should be left alone like that. Not even him. But I still wish that Black were rotting in Azkaban with a Dementor sucking on his soul like a lollipop.

Then he wouldn't be touching you.

No one should ever touch you.

Eight to one says Lupin would kill me, if only to avenge his mate. Not worth the gamble.

You pull away from Black and I'm suddenly aware of the agonizing throbbing of my heart. You're smiling at him. Him. It's physically painful. I want to be the one to make you smile like that. I want that smile to be only mine and mine alone.

Mine.

"Touching as this moment may be—" I feel a surge of triumph as you jump away from him, frightened by my snarl— "I have actual work to do—a concept which most likely eludes the lot of you . . . But then again . . . not all of us can be intransigent convicts leeching off of the pity of others."

Black turns white and then a dark red and takes a menacing step towards me. Away from you. Good. Get away from him, Black.

He shouldn't be near you. Not ever. He can't be trusted.

Lupin wisely steps between us as I hold my ground. It's just as well—it wouldn't do for you to get the worthless fool back just to have me splatter him all over my beautiful dungeons. Not at all. I'm a deadly duelist—one of the very best—and they both know it. You're glaring at me now, deliciously large green eyes hard and frosty with anger. You're magnificent when you're angry. I wonder if you'd taste different angry . . .

I'm suddenly thankful for large, billowing robes. Although if Lupin pays attention, he could catch on. Not that it would mean anything.

Knife. Right. I'm not at all in top form. Once again, your fault.

I glare Black into what passes for submission for him and then turn to retrieve the knife I need. It's a virgin blade, never before used, to ensure the purity of the blood. Metal can hold onto a magical essence for years, especially with a substance as potent as human blood. My hand closes over the black handle as Black begins to question you incessantly about things that aren't important. I still listen keenly to your responses.

Just once I'd like to say, 'How was your day, Harry?'

And then you'd say, 'Oh, it was great!' and then drone on about something puerile until you reached the point where you'd inevitably say, 'And how was your day, Severus?" Or maybe 'How's that potion you're working on? Did you fix the consistency problem?' And I'd answer you with something close to a smile and it would all be terribly domestic and meaningless, but pleasant nonetheless.

I grip the handle of the knife so tightly it hurts. My robes swirl comfortingly about my ankles as I turn to where the three of you are clustered and looking so sickeningly . . . content and glide over with my best stalk, the knife held in my hand as though it were a wand. My voice is brittle as frozen glass.

"Though you," I let my glare rest on you for a moment longer than it really should, "may feel the need to waste absolutely every second of your waking hours, I do not!" You wilt noticeably and slump slightly against Black. I feel my hatred of the man quadruples immediately.

You'd never lean on me that way.

And I hope you never do. I don't know if I could handle that.

I hate you. I hate Black because you love him. I hate Lupin because you trust him. But most of all, I hate you for making me want you to love and trust me. For sinking into my very fucking skin.

I hate you. And I think I love you.

I'm obsessed. I don't know what to do.

"Lupin!" Giving orders seems to help. "Hand me that bowl," I growl, gesturing vaguely at the wooden bowl with Baby's Breath in it on my worktable.

He obligingly moves out of the way to retrieve it as I stalk over to his mate, my movements making it very clear that if you don't move I will have little problem with trampling you. You dart out of my way, moving so that you're almost hidden behind Black, tousled head peaking out from behind the other man's sleeve.

Godson hiding bastard.

I unceremoniously grab his left hand in mine and jerk it up to inspect the palm. The skin of his hands is rough and worn, indicative of a hard life. I don't particularly know how to feel about that so I ignore it. Lupin holds the bowl beneath Black's hand without being told to do so and I feel a flicker of gratitude. He must be an excellent little housewife.

. . .

That thought is suitably disturbing to make me forget the warm feeling of your curious eyes locked on me as I carefully draw the knife from the base of your dogfather's palm to the end of his middle finger. Blood immediately fills the more-than-shallow cut and I watch the beautiful crimson rise for a moment before quickly flipping the hand over and tilting it down slightly. I holding it steady to bleed into the bowl. The Baby's Breath seems to melt as the first drops of blood soak into its tiny white petals. The flower will help the blood maintain its potency for several hours and strengthen the Subringor and Verus Vultus by a factor of at least ten.

To his credit, Black remains perfectly still and silent as his life's blood, heavy with magic and vibrant with his power, drips steadily into the bowl. You fidget behind him, eyes still locked on me for reasons I cannot, and do not want to, begin to fathom. Lupin is watching you and occasionally his eyes flicker to me, frowning as though he'd just bitten into a strange fruit and he couldn't decide whether to swallow or spit it out and go scrub his teeth. Does he know?

Does some bit of your scent still linger on my skin, in my hair?

The idea is frighteningly appealing.

You let out a soft, pretty sigh when I flip the mutt's hand back over and Lupin once again obliges me by tapping it with his wand and muttering a light healing spell. The abused skin seals up and I shudder slightly, recalling something vague and distant that my memory can't quite seem to hold onto. I feel a sudden need to bathe. Black's skin feels nothing like yours. I don't want to touch it again.

I release him abruptly, rubbing my palms fastidiously against my robes. I feel dirty.

So dirty.

Lupin watches me with uncomfortably perceptive eyes for a moment before handing me the bowl. I resist the urge to hex him for no apparent reason.

Damn amiable wolf.

"When will it be ready?" he asks as I snatch the blood from him and sweep over to my worktable.

"Tomorrow." Now go away and leave me to my pain and my solitude.

Please.

"We'll stop by then, alright?"

"Yes, yes, yes, Lupin," I snap with a wave, making a show of appearing to be extremely busy. "Now take your reunion away and leave me in peace."

I don't turn around to see his face, but I can feel his eyes boring into my back like fire. Not brown human eyes. Hot Gold and Amber. The wolf's eyes. I wonder at what he sees.

But he says nothing and I hear the door open and Black's heavy combat boots stomping out of the room, followed by Lupin's lighter footfalls.

And then there was one. You. Always, always my you. "Goodbye, Professor."

I stiffen, wondering what the hell that's supposed to mean, before cursing myself for a paranoid old fool. It means nothing. Nothing means anything anymore.

I curse myself again as you leave, already keenly aware of your absence. I miss you. My headache rages and I miss you. It frightens me.

And as he faced the sun he cast no shadow.