Sorry it took so long to update, but unfortunately from now on updates will be on the eratic side. Access to computers, and all that jazz. Anyway, enjoy! Sort of a filler chapter, this.

Disclaimer: I don't own HP.

Chapter 3

Survivors

At the moment, breathing was the most difficult thing Severus had ever had to do. His head was light, and full of a dull roaring, and his body had passed through agony into some other, stranger realm on the other side. But that was to be expected. The punishment of the last few days, exhaustion, and malnutrition would have done for him eventually anyway. Add to that tonight's revels, and he was a 'goner', as his students said. But his master's parting shot had sealed his fate. When the spear of fire transfixing him had receded and he had been allowed to slump, he had felt the utter destruction inside. His spine and lower abdomen were gone, almost liquified by the trauma of the spell. His heart and lungs laboured to function past the ruin of his lower body. Each passing moment weakened him further, towards the point of death. He couldn't do a thing.

But he had to. He had to move, to fight, because they hadn't even had the decency to let him die alone. That damned werewolf had gone and gotten himself captured, and was chained up and sobbing at the far side of the hall. With the full moon coming, a chained werewolf would be torn to pieces by his fellows. And even if he survived this night, it was clear from Voldemort's interest in him earlier that he was lined up as Severus' replacement. He wouldn't survive long in that capacity.

So. To-do list. One: figure out how to move, and fight. Two: get Lupin unchained, and give him the wolfsbane secreted in his robes, if it was still in what was left of his robes, and not rolling around on the floor somewhere. Three: get killed quickly so that the bloody hero complex wouldn't kick in and keep Lupin from running. Well, that one shouldn't be too difficult. It was staying alive long enough to accomplish the other too that was going to be a problem.

He focused inwards, ignoring the physical ruin, searching for the magical reserve locked down and shielded as part of his Occlumency wards. He'd been storing magic there for years, siphoning off a little of the power of every spell he cast, channelling it through through wandless magic and occlumency into the reserve. Once deposited, he ignored the magic, hoarding it until it was needed, never drawing from it, until now. In truth, he had no idea how much the reserve contained. Probably not enough, but his magic was as receptive to change as the rest of him, and once shown the way would open itself up to wandless use.

He realeased the mental locks, and immediately a warm flood of magic filled him, ready for use. He was somewhat stunned by the raw strength of it. Possibly stored magic matured and gained potency, like alcohol? Alcohol. Maybe he could use a drink. Maybe you're dying, and therefore running out of time. Get a move on!

He stretched out his useable arm, the movement drawing attention from the surrounding werewolves. He'd almost forgotten about them. Greyback glanced over at him, then gestured at his pack. They then proceeded to ignore him, returning their attention to the night sky. Only Greyback continued to study him. Severus knew the alpha was at least partially aware of his intent. He always was. Animals were far more sensitive to him than humans. But he and Fenrir had a tacit agreement, of sorts, an unspoken respect for each other. Come moonrise, the alpha would lead the pack against him, but in the meantime he would allow Severus to prepare however he could.

'Accio Wolfsbane.' His voice was cracked and hideous, results of his first scream in over twenty years. He expended as little energy on the spell as possible, with the result that instead of flying to his hand, the vial rolled gently from its position a few feet away. So it hadn't stayed in his robes. The Unbreakable charm had been a wise precaution. Most of the precautions he took were. Like having the bloody potion to start with. How he had come up with that one he had no idea. Perhaps Dobby was rubbing off on him. 'Always be prepared for what you is having to do.' He smiled slightly at the memory of the elf. Whatever the case, he had the potion, and he could use it.

There wasn't a hope in hell that he'd be able to drag himself over to Remus manually, but he would have to approach the other to administer the wolfsbane, and unlock the shackles. He sighed, or started to, but the distressing gurgle in his lungs stopped him. He had to move now, or he wouldn't be able to move at all.

Levicorpus, he thought, concentrating on his body getting lighter. That wasn't too difficult, seeing as there wasn't all that much left of it. Slowly, he levitated gently to hover a few inches above the ground, smirking. Who needs a broom, Potter, when you can do this! Then he realised what he had just thought. He had moved into delirium. Not surprising, but not encouraging either.

Trying to ignore the disturbing tendancy to wander that his thoughts now had, he focused the magic and floated gently over to Remus. It was only after he had set himself down in front of him that he noticed the werewolf's horrified stare. He was tempted to snap at him, but his throat was sore enough. He thrust the vial into Lupin's hands, watching him sniff it cautiously, already looking rather feral. Realising what he held, Lupin downed it hurriedly. Not a moment too soon, either, if the shifting of his features was anything to go by. Focusing once more, Severus performed a quick Alohomora charm, and the cuffs clattered to the floor.

The grunts, and other, less pleasant, sounds filling the room indicated that the change was on all present. Really, he should just take it easy and let them do what they pleased, but Lupin would go accustomed to his lupine form that much slower owing to the effects of the wolfsbane. Therefore, to keep the other alive, he would have to fight until then. Also, some part of him, the part that had lashed out when the brat had persisted in calling him a coward, rebelled at the notion of simjply letting Death come. That part wanted him to force his battered body to rise, to fight with every trick and tactic he had learned in long years as a spy and duelist. He didn't want to die a beaten slave. He wanted to die a warrior, overcome in battle, fighting to the death with all he had.

Damn! That bloody hero complex was infectious! After so long around Potter, Lupin and Black, not to mention Dumbledore...Oh dear. Best not to think of that. And anyway, death was coming anyway. He might as well do what he felt like in his last hour. Or minute. Or whatever.

A click of claws on stone alerted him to the movements of the werewolves behind him. He calculated quickly. Twelve in total, and only a couple who liked to hunt alone. So up to ten who would have stayed for more immediate sport. Ten fullgrown, bloodthirsty werewolves, all with the scent of his blood clouding their senses. What fun!

Well, time to start. He seized his magic, and shot up into the air, spinning to face his opponents. Those closest backed up at the sudden movement. Three close, four spread out around the hall, another three in a cluster near the forest door. Damn. One more than he had hoped. Oh, well. Incendio! A gout of silver flame leapt from his damaged arm to surround the pair near on his left. He stared at the limb in shock. Incendio didn't usually...obviously wandless magic worked rather differently. The flames died, leaving the closer werewolf in a smoking heap and the other limping away with a severly singed side. The third leapt in the intervening time, and only a quick spin saved his leg from the snapping jaws. He should have been terrified, but a dangerous exhileration denied the fear.

The huge grey wolf farther down the hall nodded to him. Welcome to the hunt, Dark Brother. Blood is spilled, and you are ours! The fierce thoughts skimmed the edge of his shields. Fenrir, of the line of the wolf gods, the original werewolves, was in his element, and raring for battle. With a silent roar, Severus flew to oblige him.

For long moments, he lost himself in the roar of battle, the action and reaction, the strategy and instinct. He was joined by Lupin in man-wolf form, using the greater strategy of his human mind in tandem with the wolfish instincts. Not that you'd see that if you didn't know what to look for. To everyone else, it just looked like a vicious, ravening monster on a rampage. Severus smiled. Looked like someone was having fun.

But it couldn't last. It was a battle to the death, but his death was already determined, so it was pointless. He was forced to draw more and more magic to sustain his labouring heart, which in turn made the blood flow more freely from his wounds. The damage was too great to keep this up. But the fierce thrill driving them all denied its ending. To the death, for them all.

Or perhaps not. Severus did not notice it at first, with his mind-shields slammed tight, but the werewolves did. Horror, despair. A miasma of dark emotions, rising like a tide to claim all. In the air, he turned back to face the abandoned hall, and sighed. Dementors. A host of them, flooding out into the clearing. They had followed the battle outside, savouring the thrill of it. Now, sensing its ending, they had come to finish the feast.

Greyback and his two remaining comrades began to slink back, deep into the woods. Lupin stood poised at the edge of the clearing, instict urging him to flee, heroism urging him to stay. Severus hung in the centre, knowing that he could not run. Not from them. Suddenly, Fenrir moved back into the clearing. Fly to me, Dark Brother. Fly to me and I will grant you clean ending. Severus blinked, then nodded his understanding. No, Fenrir. A wolf cannot fight this. You will only be taken in my stead. Join another hunt. I'll not let these hatewraiths have me. The alpha stared at him for a long moment, then turned and slipped, silent as a shadow, into the deeper gloom. Severus turned to face the Dementors once more. Run, Remus! Run, you bloody idiot! He sent, then ignored the other's presence.

Patronus. He'd never cast one, never had the ability. Any happy, any peaceful memories he had were buried deep, beneath layers and layers of shielding, where no master could touch them. But that hardly mattered now. He was not about to become a mindfeast for a bunch of damn Dementors. So he called them, called the memories. Of Poppy, ordering him about with laughter in her eyes, tending to him out of love and not duty, granting silent understanding even when he could not tell what he had done, or had had done to him. Of Dobby, querelously going about showing him basic house elf cleaning spells, fixing him up as he fixed Dobby up after Lucius. Of hearing of his friend's freedom. Of his children. Of his proud, fierce Slytherins. Of learning that Neville Longbottom had found the raw nerve to take Potions to NEWT level to become a healer.

They were his, in their pride and their humility, in their courage and their fear. Each had touched his life, and he could not allow his death to fail them. He abandoned the magic holding his tattered body together, and threw it all into the summoning. As he began to fall back to earth, he murmured the spell on a laboured sigh.

He was barely conscious as the great silver hawk burst forth from his chest, as the man-wolf that was Remus Lupin caught his falling body, as his soaring Patronus tore through the ranks of Dementors, as their flight began. But before he slid down to darkness, he was aware of one more thing. He heard the beginnings of the phoenix song, felt the warm swell of peace that accompanied it. He saw through blurred eyes the silver hawk ascending twinned in a double helix with the golden firebird. And though he knew what it had to mean, he could not fear as the glorious lilting cadence carried him down the dark tide to rest.