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You Will Not Kiss Me	By : Prosperosdaughter Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Remus Views: 22836 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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Chapter 101: Hue & Cry

Snape Occluded his mind as deeply as he was able. It was akin to having his conscious feeling mind immersed in a claustrophobic black fog, impenetrable to the Dark Lord's intrusions.

In many ways, it protected him not just from external intrusion, but from his own sharp heartbreak, making him more of an automaton as he moved around the assembled Death Eaters, receiving their congratulations as his due, as if disposing of the greatest wizard of all time had been a welcome task.

To all outward appearances, Snape was proud of the killing, an unpleasant smirk painted on his sharp features as he accepted yet another cut glass flute of fine champagne from the Malfoy cellars. At least, he knew his Sobriety Potion was working: his reasoning was sharp and lucid.

The Dark Lord invited Snape to take the seat at his right hand side then he turned to Bellatrix and said, slyly, "This is how my loyal servant demonstrates his devotion." An ugly flush coloured her cheeks, pleasing the Dark Lord even more and he uttered a nasty little laugh.

Snape said very little as the assembled company laughed raucously as the Carrows described Dumbledore falling from the Astronomy Tower, complete with mimes, and spat snide remarks about Draco's inability to cast the Killing Curse at the defenceless old man.

Draco stayed in the corner with his mother. He glanced nervously around himself occasionally, his mother protectively holding the back of his robe, and yet holding her head high. Snape thought the boy was on the verge of tears. He suspected Draco's Occlusion would not hold out once it was tested.

"No such reservations for our Severus, though," chuckled Yaxley and the Dark Lord laughed. The sound made Snape's skin crawl with revulsion: as if he needed reminding how he had struck down an unarmed man.

"Yes. Poor Draco. Destined to be as useless as his father," sang the Dark Lord, unpleasantly, sneering at the boy. "Perhaps, Draco – you should have a different role model. Someone who knows how to serve his master."

Draco flinched, but his mother did not. The pained look that flickered briefly across her face confirmed to Snape that she was used now to being bartered with.

"What say you, Draco? Perhaps, Severus here should be your new father figure," said the Dark Lord, silkily. Bellatrix cried out in dismay, and Narcissa's eyes shone with tears, even as the boy's chin jutted in resistance, although his quivering lip gave his terror away. Snape knew it was the provocation of distress which the Dark Lord enjoyed. Narcissa was the only one of the three who managed any form of self-restraint but it was Bellatrix and Draco who the Dark Lord looked upon in cruelty.

"Perhaps Narcissa should be Severus's reward after all," the Dark Lord whispered. "Perhaps - I will keep Lucius in Azkaban and give his titles and wealth to Severus – a servant who capable of doing as he is asked."

Many of the Death Eaters sniggered maliciously, revelling in the downfall of the most pompous and entitled of their number. There would have been a time when Snape would have relished such a denigration of his former abuser, but his own pain cloaked deeply within his Occlusion permitted no respite.

Snape smiled his tight smile, as if he too was highly amused, but he cared not. All he cared about at this precise time was being able to get through the night without betraying his complete grief. Respite, in the form of spite, came from the Dark Lord himself.

"I think, Severus, that Narcissa should be your prize. Take her to her room. She is yours to command!"

The Dark Lord grinned wider with each of Bellatrix's pleas against the gift as Draco stood in front of his mother, galvanised from his own self-pity by the horror of the 'gift'.

"No? Not Severus?" chuckled the Dark Lord. He leant forward to Bellatrix, an inch away from her face. "Then who shall it be to receive the gift. And which gift?" The Dark Lord gestured delicately between mother and son, his implication clear. Narcissa gasped as her hand flew to her throat as she realised what the Dark Lord meant to do.

Even in his deep Occlusion, Snape rebelled at the trading off between a woman and her son, a boy without protection, just as Snape had once been, amongst these men, some of whose taste ran more to pain as power than to pleasure. Snape's eyes caught Narcissa's, and he quickly cast Legilimens, his wand out of sight beneath the table.

'Trust me!'

Snape stood sharply and he beckoned Narcissa abruptly.

"Thank you, my Lord. You honour me."

The Dark Lord inclined his head in agreement. Whistles and cat-calls sounded around the room, ever louder with each imprecation Bellatrix uttered against Snape. Of course, she dared not actually curse him as it was the Dark Lord's direction, but her malevolence glittered in her eyes just the same – her distress a feast for the Dark Lord's own.

"Narcissa it is, then," pronounced the Dark Lord. "Remember, you are my gift to Severus. Be obedient in all he asks. I will hear if you are not."

Narcissa stood, her eyes still bright fighting humiliation and shame, her teeth biting into her trembling lower lip.

Snape turned and swept from the room and Narcissa followed him, her head held high, gesturing for Draco to remain behind even as he blustered and struggled against his aunt's cruel grip.

As soon as they reached Narcissa's bedroom, Snape carefully warded the door. He knew (as the Dark Lord did not) that she and Malfoy had separate bedrooms – they had done for some time. He also knew that her room adjoined her son's. Malfoy's child-like attachment to his mother was something of a whispered joke in the Slytherin common room. Snape did not ward the adjoining door.

Narcissa stood before him, miserable and afraid but trying to hold her chin up. Snape stood away from her. Swallowing hard, Narcissa knelt before him.

"Please, Severus. I understand that we must do this, only ... please ..."

Snape reached towards her, and helped her to her feet, still holding her shoulders.

"No, Narcissa. No, we don't."

Snape led her to the bed and helped her to sit, and stood away from her once more, sickened by the pleading in her voice and eyes, by the acceptance that he would do what had been commanded of him.

"You sleep here, and I will take the chair over there."

"The Dark Lord will know," she whispered harshly. "Remember what happened before ..."

"He has witnessed your family's humiliation in front of his chosen. It is enough."

At that moment, the adjoining door burst open and Draco rushed in, his wand aloft although his hand was shaking.

"Get away from my mother!" spat Draco through gritted teeth.

"Draco, stop!" Narcissa cried, but Snape was faster. The boy was knocked over by a speedy jinx and he fell at Snape's feet as Snape slammed the adjoining door and this time warded it against all comers.

The boy's chin trembled to be so unceremoniously dealt with, but Narcissa knelt next to him and embraced him.

"Severus will help us, Draco. When will you trust me on this?" She stroked back his hair, even as Draco's eyes glittered with hatred and despair mixed.

"He's not to be trusted! Look! He even wears my father's clothes!" Draco hissed.

"Draco," his mother said, keeping her own voice calm. "I gave them to him because his were ruined. Now stop! You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes, I do! Well, you'll never be a man like my father!"

"I sincerely hope not," Snape drawled. "Now, see to your mother." Snape frowned as he watched her face. "She has suffered much to shield you."

With that, he turned his back on them both and found an armchair by the large French windows and sat down, resting his head back and closing his eyes, his wand resting across his knees.

Images of Dumbledore's face bathed in the green killing light and Lupin mouthing his name played over and over in his mind, but he dared not show his distress, even as he listened to the mother comforting her son, words indiscernible, just the tone of reassurance and love.

Eventually, he noticed that the murmurs had stopped. He looked up and saw that Narcissa and Draco had fallen asleep on top of the counterpane, the mother with her fingers in her son's hair; the boy almost child-like in her embrace, his face pale and drawn even in slumber.

Snape envied them this comfort.

At Draco's age, Snape had been a fervent acolyte for the Dark Lord, his heart full of bitterness and resentment, hungry for power at whatever cost. He had done all that the Dark Lord had bidden him and done it willingly.

And now, after all these years, he was still paying the price for those choices.

Suddenly, as he watched them sleeping, he felt the bonding circlet ignite and flame through his arm.

Gasping in pain, he staggered out of the armchair and through the French windows onto the balcony and locked it behind him. He panted as the pain flared brighter and brighter still and he bit back a cry.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it ceased and slowly he managed to regain his breath as his arm continued to tingle maddeningly.

What did it mean? Snape had only felt it once when the Dark Lord had tried force Snape to violate Narcissa. Lupin had felt it too. The bond's flaming reaction had helped him throw off the Imperius curse and to preserve their bond.

So this must mean ... their bond was threatened now. And Snape had no way of defending it. Perhaps I have no right to, he thought hopelessly. He closed his eyes and felt them sting and then he clutched his upper arm, half-expecting to feel the circlet come loose under his clothes, but the circlet remained embedded there.

The bond was not broken.

Not yet anyway. How long would it be before Lupin renounced his murderer of a husband?

If Snape could just speak to him ... if he could just ... just ...

He suppressed a sob as his Occlusion fell away and he looked out over the immaculate grounds of the Malfoy estate, hearing the unearthly cry of the white peacocks that strutted, like their erstwhile master, below.

This was exactly what Dumbledore had planned: Snape to be unassailable as the Dark Lord's right hand man, his most trusted – trusted by the Dark Lord so he could do Dumbledore's bidding.

This trust was once what Snape himself had craved beyond all else – except the hand of Lily Evans – indeed, he had thought that it would win him Lily's hand. How foolish he had been. How little he had understood what love was then. Despite his heartbreak, he had to be strong and fulfil his vow but ah! how he wished – how he wished Dumbledore had not made that final demand of him.

He exhaled heavily and shut his eyes once more, imagining Lupin coming to stand behind him on the balcony, and wrapping his arms around his chest, kissing the side of his head and murmuring in his ear:

"All done, Severus. Sshh. My love. All is well. Everything is going to plan."

Snape imagined himself leaning back on Lupin, drawing on his warmth, physical and emotional, and feeling safe and loved.

If only.

His knuckles whitened around the balustrade of the balcony, and he shivered. It was just before dawn and quite cold, but he could not cast a Warming Charm.

oooOOOooo

There was a more subdued atmosphere when Snape led Narcissa down to a late breakfast. Knowing looks were exchanged between the few remaining, even though most were badly hungover, but Snape and Narcissa kept their counsel. Draco followed shortly after, now understanding the need to keep his Occlumency in place or his mother would face far worse than the pretence of being Snape's paramour. His mother had finally made him understand that sometimes one must dissemble, no matter how dishonourable it might seem.

"See, Severus! You have made the special edition," the Dark Lord said with a small laugh and passed The Daily Prophet to him as Snape took his seat on the Dark Lord's right hand side.

Snape's stomach knotted to see the photograph of Dumbledore, at his most genial and benign and, next to it, a photograph of himself, scowling as he always did when photographed. To Snape, he looked like a killer. He wondered what Lupin was thinking as he read this. Where was he? How hurt was he? Who was he with?

Wanted for Questioning for the Murder of Albus Dumbledore!

Severus Snape, 37, long-standing Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was named as being a person of interest in the hunt for the killer of Albus Dumbledore.

Snape frowned in confusion. How was it that he was only 'a person of interest'? He was sure Potter had seen everything. Surely, he had told the Order who had cast the Killing Curse. He read further on to see that Pius Thicknesse had named him as being seen leaving the scene at the same time as Harry Potter was also seen chasing the Death Eaters. Such a clever misdirection. But of course, this is why the Dark Lord had been so keen to have Thicknesse at his disposal.

And then there was the journalist of the piece, Rita Skeeter: a woman so full of bile for a child whom she barely knew. Undoubtedly, she was more interested in pursuing her own agenda with Potter as he read all the veiled aspersions she cast against Potter's character and stability. Snape wondered what had engendered such an animosity and, within his Occluded mind, he knew Dumbledore would chuckle at the irony of Snape's questions.

Within hours of the late breakfast, the Dark Lord had sent out most of his Death Eaters to find out how enquiries progressed. A watch was placed on Spinner's End to ensure Snape's house was not compromised and the Dark Lord instructed Thicknesse to ensure that no Aurors who were members of the Order were part of investigations against Snape.

It quickly became apparent that Yaxley had been busy with his own special form of 'recruitment' to the Dark Lord's cause by Imperiusing not only Thicknesse but a number of mid-level Aurors. They were being directed away from Snape at every opportunity.

"You must lie low, Severus, until I have the Ministry in my grasp. Then the hue and cry will die down," the Dark Lord said, and Snape could see that the Dark Lord had every confidence that the fall of the Ministry would be soon.

oooOOOooo

The day had been long and had felt arduous. Snape had not slept the night before – not because he didn't trust Narcissa or Draco, but because he was afraid of his dreams.

Even Snape's waking dreams of Lupin and Dumbledore made him heartsick. If he allowed himself to sleep, what nightmares of green light and falling, broken bodies or Lupin trying to follow him up those spiral stairs but being blocked by the Dark Mark from each other would plague his sleep? What cruelty might Lupin's wolf dreams visit on him, even if Snape felt he deserved such cruelty for what Lupin must now be going through?

Snape dared not sleep, but his emotions felt flayed, his mind stretched and his body weak.

He took another Pepper-Up Potion to keep him awake and focused, mixing it with a Calming Draught, to keep himself unemotional. No-one knew better than he that he could not rely on this cocktail for long without seriously undermining his physical and mental health. But for now, it was necessary especially as he heard raucous catcalling from the hall of the Manor and knew another had been selected for punishment.

With a heavy heart, Snape breathed in sharply and made his way down the grand staircase.

"Mask!" ordered the Dark Lord in his high, clear voice to the Death Eaters who stood in a circle.

The Dark Lord gestured to his right hand side as Snape masked, even as his stomach churned. Someone was to be punished before all the Death Eaters. Snape felt the Dark Lord's magic reverberating.

"Bring our guest, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord said softly, his red eyes settling on the Death Eater opposite Snape. Markham.

Chuckling wildly – an ugly noise that verged on cackling - Bellatrix appeared at the double doors of the hall with a blindfolded woman dressed in Muggle clothes, her hands bound behind her. Snape had never seen her before but he saw Markham start in his place and struggle to retain his composure.

"Yes, Alfred. I believe this young lady is known to you." The Dark Lord leered at Markham and swiped with his wand so that Markham was unmasked before all.

The man's terror was plain to see. He was already sweating profusely and his eyes were large and wild even as he tried for his wand, in vain.

"Oh no, Alfred." A flick of the Dark Lord's wrist, and Markham was immobilised. "At least, not yet."

This must have been what Snape had heard the other night. This woman was Markham's lover. Snape only had to look at the terror in Markham's eyes to understand that in some way she was unsuitable by her blood. A Muggle-born, perhaps? Snape felt his own fingers twitch to arm himself.

The woman was led into the circle and Bellatrix, giggling madly, removed her blindfold with a spell.

"What's going on?" asked the woman breathlessly as she blinked against the light.

"Hello, dearie," Bellatrix said, her lip curled unpleasantly as the woman's eyes went wide at the sight of her, and then comically so at the sight of the Dark Lord as she gasped out loud and whispered a prayer, unable to break her gaze from the crimson eyes that regarded her with such distaste.

In that instant, Snape knew with a chill that settled over him like a shroud that the woman was not a witch at all – Markham had fallen for a Muggle. There could be no hope for her, and probably none for him either.

"An abomination," hissed the Dark Lord, as he grimaced in hatred. "It must be removed." With a quick slash of his hand, the woman cried out in pain and was thrown to the floor at Markham's feet.

"Do it, Alfred. Clean the smear from your name. Redeem yourself ..."

Tears were rolling down Markham's face, even has his lip trembled and his frame shook against the curse that immobilised him.

"... or die."

The Dark Lord lifted the spell, and Markham nearly fell, then staggered and then dropped to one knee before the woman.

"Alfie!" she beseeched him, her eyes darting to the masked men around her. "What's going on? Why are you dressed like that? Who are these men?"

"SILENCE, FILTH!" Bellatrix screamed and the woman gasped as her voice was silenced, as Markham gathered her, now shaking, to himself.

"My Lord, please." Markham's voice wavered. "A mere dalliance. The fault is mine. Not hers."

"Of course it's yours, Alfie," the Dark Lord taunted. "So you must remedy it."

Snape fancied he heard the Dark Lord linger sibilantly on the first word, but then he realised that the great snake was approaching – wending its way towards the prone couple. The woman saw it and Snape saw her fear as she began to cry and beg silently as she pushed herself into Markham's body, clutching at his robes. The surrounding Death Eaters laughed, especially Bellatrix, whose laugh was as gleeful as her expression was manic.

"My Lord, I beg you!" Markham cried, shaking with terror, his fingers entwined in the trembling woman's hair, as the snake approached.

"Death from Nagini's venom is painful, Alfred. Long and tortured. Won't you spare your ... your lover ... such a lingering - excruciating death," the Dark Lord, his voice dripping with false pity. "Put it out of its misery."

Oh sweet Merlin! Snape thought, sharing Markham's visible agony as the kneeling wizard begged over and over again for mercy, to Obliviate the woman and let her go. The Dark Lord's sneer became more pronounced with every plea. The Dark Lord didn't care whether the woman suffered or not. He wanted to see Markham kill her. He wanted to force Markham to destroy what he loved and, in so doing, destroy Markham himself.

The hall fell silent, but for the hysterical pleading of Markham.

The snake was mere feet away now.

"You know the spell, Alfred," whispered the Dark Lord, his eyes alight with malevolence.

Markham clutched the woman to him and kissed the crown of her head, tears rolling down his cheeks, even as his wand-tip just touched under her chin.

"Avada Kedavra!"

It had taken all Snape's iron self-control not to vomit when Markham had killed his lover. Markham then refused to be separated from her lifeless body, howling in his grief. The Dark Lord had stood and watched, interested, perhaps even intrigued, by the emotion on display.

And whilst the Dark Lord stood, so the rest of them stood, until the Dark Lord bored of it and sent Markham to be with his unnamed lover.

oooOOOooo

The only chance Snape got to be alone was to take himself to the Malfoy library, ostensibly to continue his researches on the poison. In reality, he needed to be apart from the callous chattering and joking of the Death Eaters about Markham and his Muggle lover, and the random acts of violence that would suddenly be unleashed by the Dark Lord if an acolyte fell short, even unwittingly, of the Dark Lord's expectations.

Although he feigned disinterest, Snape devoured all the newspaper articles on Dumbledore and the arrangements for his funeral, and even on the seemingly dead-end nature of the murder investigation.

The school had not closed, as some had speculated. Most students (other than those from Slytherin) remained and the funeral would be in a week's time. Of course, he could not go. He – the killer – was denied a farewell, even though it was he who needed that farewell so greatly.

Perhaps, there was some way he could get into the castle – some ruse he could use? Even if he couldn't pay his last respects at the funeral, sooner or later he needed to speak with the portrait and it couldn't wait until September.

Now more than ever, Snape needed guidance in the lonely quest that Dumbledore had bequeathed to him.

.

A/N: Thank you so much for reviews so far. I love to know you are enjoying the story.
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You Will Not Kiss Me