Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

You Will Not Kiss Me	By : Prosperosdaughter Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Remus Views: 22836 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling & her associates own the Harry Potter universe and I make no money from my stories.

Chapter List
- 101
- 102
- 103
Direct quotes from Chapters 29 & 30 of HBP and 1 & 33 DH are in bold and © J.K. Rowling

Warning: ANGST. Dear readers, remember that the storm must come for it to pass. Courage.

Chapter 102: The Confusion of Loss

The ruse had been simple once he had focused on the issue. The damned poison the Dark Lord wanted so dearly: all his notes were at Hogwarts.

The Dark Lord had been resistant to allowing Snape to leave the Manor. Snape had dissembled well: he had mentioned, as if in passing, that the previous month's work would be spoilt if he could not keep it tended and there was, of course, Wolfsbane Potion to be prepared for Greyback and his pack – all his equipment was there – his ingredients. Once safely in, Snape was sure he could take care of business undetected in rooms only he knew of – he had, after all, spent twenty-six years of his life there.

The Dark Lord had smirked, as if Snape had mentioned something which amused him, but then his expression became serious once more.

"But that day? The place will be full of visitors – Aurors – dignitaries ..."

"Quite so, my Lord. Everyone's attention will be diverted, and one more won't be suspected." Snape baited the hook to let the idea be the Dark Lord's.

The Dark Lord inclined his head. "Polyjuice?"

"A wise choice, my Lord. If I may suggest one of our own from Magical Law Enforcement?"

oooOOOooo

Pius Thicknesse was very tall. It felt quite odd to be that tall. And to have such a protruding brow that it shaded Snape's vision. And to have a beard. Snape rubbed it with his hand, hating it as he did so and then Disapparated to the gates of Hogwarts just in time to join with the main cohort of Aurors on guard duty. The real Thicknesse had drilled Snape on what their plan had been for the day. Originally, Thicknesse had not intended to be present, but made an hour of his schedule available for Snape to fill.

This suited Yaxley, who had found it necessary to re-apply the Imperius Curse on more than one occasion. He took this opportunity to stay with Thicknesse to reassert his control as Snape ventured forth in Thicknesse's guise.

The pretence was easy enough. Snape behaved with the studied arrogance of a pureblood and ignored the minions who kept their distance. Two by two, they went to their assigned posts and he had very little to do to seem like the offhand supervisor. Within ten minutes, he was alone and, with his knowledge of the castle, quickly found one of the many disused corridors, Disillusioned himself and made his way to the dungeons.

Thicknesse had told Snape that he had cast the Auror Cordon Charm on Snape's quarters and office and had shown him how to unlock it. When he reached his quarters, he quickly cast and the door yielded to him immediately.

He stood at the threshold of his old life and found himself unable to move at the scene of devastation. Most of his books were thrown around, some even ripped from their bindings, and his furniture destroyed – the upholstery on his settee and armchairs torn, the bookshelves broken, the contents of the desk drawers dumped on the floor. If the Aurors had been searching, it had hardly been methodical.

Suddenly, he broke the paralysis of shock, and strode to his bedroom, wondering what he would find there. He quickly cast to find any other charms, but found only Thicknesse's locking charm once more.

This time, however, there was no destruction. Only mess. All his clothes had clearly been searched and left strewn around and his bed stripped and turned over, the bedside tables emptied. Snape attention snapped to the wall, to the window Lupin had made for him. It seemed intact. Snape went over to it, running his fingers over it to make sure it had not been damaged. He breathed a sigh of relief then turned to the wall where the secret compartment lay.

A quick casting showed that to be undetected. He opened the compartment, ignoring the glint of the sword as he obsessively checked that each of his treasures was there, finally holding Lupin's letters to himself as if they were talismans. He pressed the bundle to his lips, smelling the parchment and, just vaguely (or perhaps it was his imagination), Lupin himself. He packed the bundle of treasures up again and sealed the compartment.

Then, Snape manoeuvred the mirror so it had a view of the Lake and he sat at the foot of his bed to watch all the people filing along to the seats set out before the Lake. He knew many of them, realised that many knew him to be the killer of the man they had come to honour. Had they known he was watching them, they would have believed him to be gloating. They did not know the truth – the terrible truth.

Then he saw Lupin. His breath stopped. He cast a spell to magnify the sight. It was as if Lupin were no more than two feet from him. So near, he could almost ...

Ah! Lupin looked so tired. So sad. So defeated. Tonks walked with him – her hair vividest pink. She touched Lupin constantly: a light touch to his elbow; a squeeze of his arm. Snape searched Lupin's face for reciprocity, but all he saw was weary smiles that didn't reach Lupin's sad eyes in response to her happiness.

Snape couldn't understand what he was seeing. One look at Tonks, so vibrant and happy as she looked at Lupin with undisguised adoration, and one would think she had finally achieved her heart's desire, unseemly as that should be at a funeral. But when he looked at Lupin, he did not see affection returned. Tonks patted Lupin's arm and turned to talk to Kingsley as Moody pulled Lupin to one side. They talked earnestly together, Lupin's mannerisms agitated as Moody's magical eye seeming to bore into him. If only Snape could lip-read. Snape wondered what Moody was thinking now – now that all his vociferous objections to Snape had seemingly been proved right.

Snape Summoned the radio from the drawing room. It only needed a mild Reparo! to repair the damage from someone having thrown it to the floor. Then Snape tuned it until he found the funeral on the Wizarding World Service. He wouldn't be able to hear Lupin, but at least he could listen to the eulogy and share the moment with him.

Then he saw Tonks retrieve Lupin – like a piece of her property – and they sat next to each other, and she held Lupin's hand. And he allowed it to be held, but that was the most that could be said.

Snape burned at the sight, and then covered his mouth with his hands, as that familiar sob threatened to escape again.

How could he object? What right had he? He had pushed him to her. He had left Lupin – lied to him that he was undercover and then left him without a word. Four months without each other. If it burnt Snape, what was it doing to Lupin?

Snape crawled forward on his knees and knelt in front of the window, searching Lupin's face. He raised his hand and stroked the glass where Lupin's face was displayed.

Oh, Lupin looked so drawn –so very unhappy.

Was it just the grief of Dumbledore's death, or was he grieving for Snape too? Was it wrong to hope it was for himself too? Snape wished he could Disapparate with Lupin at that moment and just stroke his hair from his blue eyes and hold him close.

He was just aware of the students and teachers filing in to the unfilled seats, but Snape only wanted to look at Lupin. Then he heard a strange noise interrupt the radio commentary, and saw Lupin look towards the sound. Snape adjusted the view to see he was looking at the Lake and then he understood that it was a chorus of merpeople singing in Mermish. It was not unpleasant. It spoke clearly of loss and despair. Snape wondered when there would be another Headmaster who could speak Mermish. He wondered whether there would ever be another. It would certainly not be Snape. He spoke many human languages, and prided himself on his skill with the dead languages of antiquity that accessed ancient magic for him. But he had the prejudices of his kind: he had never sought to learn to truly understand other magical beings.

Then he saw Lupin's attention turn to the aisle and Snape's breath hitched as he saw Hagrid walking slowly up the aisle and, in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled in gold stars, was Dumbledore's body. Snape couldn't help but roll his eyes almost affectionately at the cloth that covered Dumbledore – so lurid, but so very appropriate. Hagrid placed the body carefully upon the table and retreated down the aisle towards the back row.

Snape felt the heat of tears begin as he thought of the terrible things Dumbledore had done to him, the constantly throbbing pain in his heart at the loss of Lupin – so near, across the grounds, but cruelly out of Snape's reach.

But then, as a little tufty-haired man in plain black robes began the eulogy to Dumbledore, Snape remembered the terrible things he had confessed to Dumbledore who had listened unflinchingly, and who helped him back to the Light path, away from the corruption of the Dark Arts that had seemed so sensuously beautiful to him when he was young - fulfilling him and gratifying him, seeming to expunge his desperation and unhappiness replacing the need for companionship with the greed of power - until he was enveloped and riddled with the decay of his blood master.

After the fall of the Dark Lord, and Snape's compact with Dumbledore was sealed for the protection of the boy in Lily's memory, Dumbledore gave testimony to the Wizengamot on Snape's behalf and extracted him from its retribution. From that moment on, Dumbledore told all without exception that he trusted Snape, his belief in Snape unshakeable.

In the following years, he counselled Snape tirelessly and had pried loose those Dark bonds, tendril by tendril, hook by hook, claw by claw until Snape could breathe again – think in terms of others again. It did not make him a happy man or a kind man, but he began to be hopeful man – a hope that he might one day gain redemption for his many sins.

Then Snape found love. Or, rather, love found him.

Lupin, who gave of himself so fully, and who finally showed Snape that love held the greatest power – more redemptive, more fulfilling, more forgiving, more terrible than anything Snape had ever known, and never could have known had he allowed the black bile of corruption to infect him throughout his life.

Dumbledore had freed him and had ensnared him. He had given Snape hope and stolen it from him. He had advocated love, and yet denied Snape's own true love.

Had Dumbledore loved? Loved as a man? Dumbledore had confessed to them that he had once and that it had ended badly – so badly, he had forsworn it a century past. He had forgotten how love quickened the lover, fed him and nurtured him.

Loved as a father? Loved Snape? Loved Potter even? He had been prepared to send Potter to his death, just as he sent Snape every time Snape stood before the Dark Lord and told his lies.

Had Dumbledore loved? The man giving the eulogy said Dumbledore loved his fellow man unstintingly and worked tirelessly for the greater good ...

Yes, but not individual good, Snape thought, bitterly. If the greater good meant all individual happiness, like the love Snape and Lupin had shared, must be destroyed, what did the greater good mean? In his grief, Snape became ever more confused, addled by the contradictions of the man that he could barely untangle it in his mind at all.

He was ripped from his reverie by the screams by the Lake as he saw bright, white flames erupting around Dumbledore's body and the table upon which it law: higher and higher they rose, obscuring the body. White smoke spiralled into the air and made strange shapes ... but the next second the fire had vanished. In its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and Snape saw a shower of arrows soar through the air: the centaurs' tribute to the only wizard who ever tried to understand them.

It made Snape's heart lurch with pain: Dumbledore who understood so much about so many, and yet so little; whose belief in love and understanding was real but circumscribed by his total faith in the greater good. Snape covered his stinging eyes with his hands as he himself whispered goodbye and wished Dumbledore a peaceful journey onward.

oooOOOooo

Snape watched Lupin wearily get to his feet, still shadowed by Tonks. Lupin was grasped by the shoulder by Kingsley in a gesture of consolation. Then Snape saw Bill Weasley, terribly scarred, supported by his fiancée, join them. Weasley and Lupin sat together to one side, Weasley talking but Lupin saying little, shaking his head in a dejected manner every now and then. They rose, and the small group departed, Snape watching until Lupin was out of sight of the mirror.

Then Snape felt the Polyjuice begin to wear off and he sat and endured the sickening sensation as he wondered where Lupin would go now.

He could wonder all he liked; there was no way he could know. He wiped stray tears from his cheeks and tried to focus on what needed to be done. It wouldn't be wise to attempt entry to the Headmaster's office until the staff, visitors and students had left so he set about his original purpose, and went to gather his papers – not just his reams of spurious notes of the poison but he also wanted to retrieve his werewolf experiment from his office. He hoped against hope it had not spoilt or been spoilt by any search of his office.

oooOOOooo

Snape removed the Disillusionment Charm as he took in the destruction of his office. His brewing line smashed on the floor, together with many jars of rare and exotic ingredients, confirming again that the search had been conducted by those too ignorant to understand what they searched for.

He found the poison notes were strangely untouched. Perhaps, Thicknesse had been instructed of their presence?

His werewolf notes, encrypted to look innocuous as they were, were merely out of order, but not destroyed. A quick spell re-ordered them and he was able to ascertain that none of his or Alphard's notes had been taken. He could replicate what he'd done even though he now knew he probably had no-one with whom to share his results. Yet another loss, and it cut him deeply.

He knew he was taking a chance re-ordering his office, but his instincts told him that if he re-established his working place here, orders would be given for its safety. With that resolution, he spent the next few hours, cleaning up the broken ingredients and making lists for their replacement – where possible. Some had been extraordinarily rare – a lifetime's collection. Some things had been irreplaceable.

It seemed this would be the way of his life from now on.

oooOOOooo

Snape whispered the last password set by Dumbledore, and made his way to the Headmaster's office – he supposed it was the Headmistress's office now but Minerva hadn't changed the password. He wondered briefly what she thought of him now, but he dismissed the question from his mind firmly. If the Dark Lord's plans were successful, Snape would find out soon enough.

Snape entered the office and, even though he had known it would be there, he couldn't help but start as he saw the new portrait of Dumbledore slumbering in a golden frame over the desk, his half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose, looking peaceful and untroubled. As if casting the Killing Curse himself and watching the funeral were not enough, the appearance and animation of Dumbledore's portrait in this office irrevocably confirmed the deed and Snape's heart beat fast, almost fluttering with fear, as the painted figure opened his eyes and sat forward with interest.

"Good afternoon, Severus," the portrait said, gently.

Snape stood before Dumbledore, taking in the replica of the man in magical oils, even down to that infernal twinkle in his eyes

"Tell me all that has happened to you, my boy."

After a moment's hesitation, Snape had sat in his usual chair before the desk and reported everything to Dumbledore, even the murder of Markham and his Muggle mistress, feeling a small amount of relief to be able finally to unburden himself.

"So, I suppose you will say you were right," said Snape, quietly. "With the Tracking Jinx, perhaps Remus too would have been found and ..."

"Voldemort is as crude as he is callous," interjected the portrait. "It did not take much intelligence to see what danger Bellatrix's investigations could yield. It was not a risk weighted in your favour, Severus. At least, you could escape that hell – turning your wand on the one you love."

"Escape?" repeated Snape quizzically. "My life is a living hell. There is no respite for me. At least, when we were together, I had hope." Snape sighed heavily and looked away from the portrait.

"You look tired, Severus. Have you slept?"

"I am too troubled to sleep without a potion. And if I do, I will be plagued by nightmares, or ... worse."

"Tell me what is worse, Severus." Even in oils, Dumbledore's keen eyes seem to pierce Snape's mental armour.

Snape regarded the portrait and pinched the bridge of his nose as he realised that Dumbledore, whose knowledge was greater than anyone he had ever met, perhaps did not know all. But Snape did not want to share this most personal of secrets that Lupin could always find him in sleep and make his hurt at Snape's betrayal known to him. He waved the question away with an abrupt shake of his head.

Dumbledore regarded him once more.

"Have you eaten today?"

"I have been trying to repair what little I own in the world, as well as ... as watching your funeral. I did not think of food," Snape drawled unhappily.

"Ah," said Dumbledore, and looked kindly at Snape over his glasses. "Are you coping, Severus?" he asked, softly.

"I do what I must," Snape replied, tersely, cross that the kindness in Dumbledore's voice affected him so.

Dumbledore nodded, as if accepting that Snape would tell him no more.

"What you do is vital, Severus. Never underestimate the importance of your role."

"I just wonder ..." Snape's voice weakened as he tried to formulate his darkest fear in words. He coughed, and steeled himself. "I am back in the Dark Lord's service. I attend on him for his tortures and murders – what was the point of helping me to remorse if I am up to my eyes in evil once more?" He turned his tortured eyes to Dumbledore once more.

"You do not glory in the Dark Arts any more. You are not Voldemort's man. You are your own man now, Severus, and you must never forget how hard you worked to find your way back." Dumbledore leaned forward in his portrait. "I do not doubt you, Severus. I have perfect faith in you."

The words seemed to assuage the desperate guilt that had been accumulating since Dumbledore's death, since he had no-one to confess to or reconfirm his rejection of all that the Dark Lord stood for. It had begun to feel as if silence rendered him as guilty as those who killed and tortured around him. He had not realised how much he needed – how much he craved confession to rid him of the canker of evil.

But even though Dumbledore had reassured him, the agony of his separation from all he had come to value still plagued him.

"No-one now will ever believe my remorse is genuine. Not now. You have traduced me thoroughly."

"Severus, please listen to me. You are not without friends in this world - friends who know the truth of you still but outwith the reach of the Ministry."

"No-one will believe me! If this war is won and I survive – if we achieve the downfall of the Dark Lord – who will speak for me? Will your portrait be acceptable evidence for me? I don't think so!" Snape broke his fierce gaze from Dumbledore's.

"When the time comes, Severus, you will see. I have not deserted you."

Snape felt his mind spin, veering from gratitude to anger. It was right that Dumbledore not desert him, but the man whose faith Snape truly wanted – needed, above all else – what of him? Snape bit his lip and his jaw worked: he wouldn't speak more of his heartbreak. He couldn't.

Eventually, Dumbledore broke the silence once more.

"We need to start making some arrangements. Then I recommend you summon your house-elf."

"What now?" Snape rolled his eyes at Dumbledore's ham-fisted attempts to feed him, at a time like this! he thought crossly.

"We need to plan when Harry breaks his mother's protection on his relatives' house. I had discussed this with Alastor only a couple of weeks ago. Ever more Ministry officials are falling to Voldemort, willingly or otherwise. We have no doubt that the Ministry will compromise any official plan and means for Harry's removal and relocation. We agreed that the best date would be the Saturday of 27th of July."

"You decided not to wait for his seventeenth birthday?"

Dumbledore nodded. 'You will have to give Voldemort the correct date of Harry's departure from his aunt and uncle's,' said Dumbledore. 'Not to do so will raise suspicion, when Voldemort believes you so well-informed.'

Dumbledore proceeded to set out his plan. Snape could only hope against hope, he would not be asked to take part in the chase – or that Lupin would not be there to witness Snape's treachery once more. In his heart of hearts, he knew he had no hope on either score.

oooOOOooo

After Snape left Dumbledore, there was still much to do. He began the Wolfsbane, Lupin's and the lesser quality Wolfsbane for Greyback and his pack, in one of the rooms in the lower dungeons. As he prepared the ingredients, he wondered how on earth he could expect Lupin to accept the potion that he brewed. Then he remembered Dumbledore's suggestion to call Tippy.

What if she came and cringed in fear before him – the killer of the Headmaster? What if he saw fear or hatred in her eyes? Snape didn't know if he could bear it. But he had to get the potion to Lupin, and the balms would be running low. He inhaled deeply and, placing his silver knife to one side, he called her.

Tippy popped before him, her eyes wide, Snape saw, with apprehension.

"Professor Snape!" she said breathily, her fingers working at the hem of her tunic. The appellation took Snape aback: surely she knew he no longer had professorial standing at the school? "Professor Snape is safe!"

"Have you been looking for me?" asked Snape, relieved and bewildered both.

"Master Lupin calls Tippy to him every night to ask her where Professor Snape is because he wants to send letters or to speak to him. Tippy has to tell Master Lupin that Tippy cannot reach Professor Snape because he is veiled by strong magic. It makes Master Lupin so sad and sometimes angry. Tippy doesn't tell Master Lupin that Professor Snape is at Malfoy Manor because Master Lupin must be kept safe."

She took a deep breath and then cast her eyes downwards even as Snape stared at her, feeling his heart fill once more. Every night, Remus calls her. Every night! "Tippy has kept Master Lupin safe, hasn't she, sir?"

"Yes, Tippy. You have done very well," said Snape, his throat feeling tight. "Master Lupin isn't angry with you, is he?"

"Oh no, Professor Snape!" the elf rushed to confirm. "Master Lupin is never angry with Tippy, but he ... he rages when he thinks he is alone," she finished quietly.

Snape exhaled harshly, as if the air had been punched from him. Still Lupin suffered – Snape should not have let him suffer. He rested his face in the steeple of his fingers as he tried to order his thoughts, but no order would come. It was Tippy who spoke and broke his confusion.

"Headmaster Dumbledore told Tippy that she is to look after Professor Snape, just like before at Spinner's End, to make sure Professor Snape eats properly. Tippy shall fetch some soup for Professor Snape, yes? And some tea?"

"Albus ... told you ..."

"Oh yes." Tippy nodded emphatically. "Headmaster Dumbledore told Tippy weeks ago that no matter what happens, she must trust Professor Snape absolutely and help him in all he does."

Snape blinked rapidly as the elf talked, and he sat heavily, his preparations forgotten.

"Shall Tippy fetch Professor Snape his food now?" She looked at Snape hopefully.

"Very well, but then," Snape said quickly before Tippy could disappear, "we must talk about Master Lupin's potion."

It had been the first thing he had eaten in months that had had flavour. Tippy knew by now the few things that Snape really enjoyed eating but Snape couldn't help but wonder if it was because for the first time, he had a glimmer of hope. Lupin still asked for him. Dumbledore had made arrangements. Perhaps, even testimony ... if Snape survived.

After making arrangements with Tippy, he worked on his papers with a renewed will, spending hours copying the last experiment, losing himself in intellectual rigour. Even as he wrote, his eyes fluttered, his body desperate for sleep, until he could deny it no more and his head dipped to the cradle of his outstretched arm as sleep overwhelmed him.

The dream is dark and oppressive with latent anger. He turns in winds that lash him like whips, the chill prickling his exposed skin, trying to sense his lover even as his hands are outstretched to find him. The dream feels so different, so devoid of affection. But it is leaden with desire – a strange desire borne of unhappiness and grief.

"I have looked for you every night. I wanted to know from you – to hear it from your own lips - but every night you deny me."

The voice of Remus sounds distant and ragged with barely suppressed anger.

"It's so cold without you. I am so very cold inside."

Severus struggles to speak, whipping around in the air to find his lover. But as he turns, he knows he will not find him. He turns until he reaches the floor and gently drops until he is kneeling on the hard stone floor. He is naked and ashamed.

I remember this, thought Snape, the memory unwelcome with the dark foreboding of the dream.

A cruel hand cinches his jaw, the other rakes through his hair and grabs it unkindly. He feels the nails break skin. Hot breath plays in his ear. His lover's mouth is so near his own, he would just need to reach and he could kiss him, touch those perfect lips with his own ...

"You will not kiss me," his lover says, harshly.

Severus struggles to speak – to confess everything, but his lover is untrusting and unforgiving – he feels it in the vibrations in the air.

"Was I nothing to you at all? Was everything just a ruse to gain his trust so you could strike him down?" The voice is harsh, full of recrimination – and of heartbreak. "It felt so real to me." The voice breaks with despair. "So very real. I believed in you"

The voice hardens. "Are you such a consummate spy?"

He feels his naked body being covered with his robe. It is shaming. He tries so hard to speak, to deny, to explain, but his lover speaks first – and devastates him.

"I won't come to you again."

"STAY!"

But as the word tore from his throat, Snape came violently awake and the dream was gone.

Snape sat up in shock, hugging himself, his fingers clutching his own ribs, feeling chilled to his soul. Was he renounced now? Was he now so beyond redemption that he was beneath even Lupin's vengeful wolf dreams? He looked to his side, through the doorway of the bedroom, to the bed where they had shared their passion and their tenderness, from Thrall to Claim to Bond.

Snape hadn't dared to sleep unmedicated before: he feared the cruelty of the wolf dreams would escalate after he had killed Dumbledore. When he had allowed himself to sleep – when he was sure of Narcissa – he had taken Dreamless Sleep so escape his nightmares and the wolf dreams which he couldn't control.

He hadn't known if Lupin had tried to send him dreams, but now he knew. As well as trying to find him through Tippy, Lupin had tried every night since Dumbledore's death and now he would try no more. Snape should have given in to his dreams; he should not have waited.

He had expected rage, not resignation. He felt his glimmer of hope guttering and, reflexively, he grasped his upper arm.

The bond was unbroken.

He had to find a way - while there was still time.

He fumbled in his robe and found the mirror he has stashed on the night of Dumbledore's death. He hadn't looked at it once – he hadn't dared whilst at Malfoy Manor. He removed all the charms and saw that Lupin had called so many, many times. Snape felt sick to his stomach. He had to tell him; he had to confess what he had done and that Lupin had not been wrong, had not been fooled – that Lupin was blameless.

Snape called to Lupin in the mirror – many, many times. But there was no answer.

It was no more than he deserved.

Snape hung his head in increasing misery. He had wanted to keep Lupin safe, not hurt him so very badly. He wracked his brains: he didn't dare write – not when it might not even be read if Lupin renounced their bond.

Tippy! Yes! In a matter of days, Tippy would deliver the Wolfsbane Potion. She could give Lupin a message – a rendezvous – long overdue.

oooOOOooo

Snape reported to the Dark Lord that he had managed to salvage some, but not all, of his notes. He would need time to try to replicate them. The Aurors had been heavy-handed, but he was confident of success. It had not been true, but he wanted reasons of which the Dark Lord approved to be at the school and away from Malfoy Manor as much as possible.

The Dark Lord had accepted Snape's story, even checking the Tracking Jinx on him to ensure that he had indeed been at Hogwarts all this time.

"Your fealty is beyond reproach," the Dark Lord sang, even as his head swivelled and he sneered at figures in the corner, who cringed. "Unlike some."

Snape turned to see Narcissa standing with Lucius Malfoy, his skin more sallow than Snape's own, his eyes sunken and shadowed. Snape needed to see no more to know the man had finally been broken.

Malfoy attempted to sneer at Snape, who returned the sneer, with far more conviction. Then, with a small acknowledging nod to Snape, Narcissa led her husband from the room. If the Dark Lord had secured the freedom of Malfoy, doubtless the others from the débâcle at the Department of Mysteries would also have been freed. Snape needed to warn ... who could he warn now?

Snape told the Dark Lord that he wanted to track down Mundungus Fletcher. He was sure plans would be made to move Potter before his mother's protective charm broke as he came of age. Snape explained that Fletcher was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but weak of will and morals. Snape had retrieved information from him before without compromising himself; he was sure he could do it again. The Dark Lord agreed: he was anxious to know Potter's plans.

As Snape departed, he passed the study, and heard Malfoy's rasping shouts, made feeble from his year in Azkaban. Then he heard Narcissa's comforting tones, trying to soothe him, exactly as he had soothed their son. Snape had no doubt that the Dark Lord, and probably others, had taunted Malfoy about the gift that he had made of her to Snape. Now, she sought to reassure him. They were the strangest couple, in Snape's view, and yet they understood each other. Malfoy was an ineffective braggart, now more so than ever, but his presence at least might ameliorate some of Narcissa's vulnerability as a lone, uninitiated witch. At worst, perhaps his presence would draw the viciousness of the Dark Lord to himself, deservedly so in Snape's opinion, rather than to his wife and son by proxy.

Snape did not stay to listen. He had a mission to find Mundungus Fletcher.

oooOOOOooo

With a disguise of no greater complexity than a hooded travelling cloak, Snape Disapparated to Knockturn Alley. This was not the place Dumbledore's supporters tended to frequent, except this particular man. Snape knew where is quarry would be. He swept through the alley and its byways and mews, Disillusioning himself every time he entered one of the many disreputable taverns that littered that quarter of Wizarding London. Within an hour, he had found the man. Fletcher was easily Confunded at the bar, and led to an alcove for a private discussion of decoys and Polyjuice – just enough to give Potter a chance of escape – and to plant the idea that Fletcher himself had seen the escaped prisoners in Knockturn Alley and that he would forewarn – and so forearm - Moody himself of the augmented Death Eater numbers.

oooOOOooo

Snape did not return to the Dark Lord immediately. He made various orders as the less salubrious emporia which asked no questions to replenish his more esoteric supplies and then returned to Hogsmeade Disillusioned. Using the Headmaster's Charms, he gained access to the Shrieking Shack and used its tunnel to enter the grounds of Hogwarts once more.

He had Wolfsbane to finish and researches to continue. But most of all, he needed time alone, away from the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters – to meditate, to Occlude, to plan, and to master his grief in peace.

oooOOOooo

The dream is obscure. It is frightening. The bond is simmering, not quite burning but he knows the flame is imminent, ready to flare. The air carries his lover's confusion, his helplessness, his deep, deep longing and his unfathomable despair. His lover is searching but he cannot find who he seeks. Severus knows, in the way of dreams, that Remus does not know who he seeks. Severus wants to call to him, tell him where he is, but he cannot speak, he cannot shout. He struggles against the desolate fog but he knows his lover is receding, getting further and further from him.

It cannot wait! It must be now!

"Remus! I'm here!"

Snape's eyes snapped open, sick with panic and slick with sweat as his eyes swept the room for Lupin. His stomach clenched as he realised that he was shouting once more to an empty room, but what did it portend? Why was Lupin so confused, seeking that he should know? Had he been injured? Was he ill, reaching out to Snape that way? Snape cursed again that he had no way of knowing what had befallen Lupin now.

But then he remembered, and called Tippy to him.

"Has Master Lupin called you this night?" Snape said, his voice unsteady with worry.

"No, Professor Snape. Not for three days now," she said.

Snape tried to control his fluttering of panic and tried to reason it for himself. Of course, Lupin would not call her: he had said in the wolf dream he was done with Snape – that must have meant trying to find him too. But this dream – this was so very different.

"Can you go to him? See if he is safe? Just see and not be seen? There is no need to speak to him if he is safe."

The elf nodded and popped away, as Snape sat on the edge of his bed, his breathing still ragged. She was barely gone five minutes, but the time dragged by until she appeared before Snape once more.

"Master Lupin sleeps, Professor Snape. Tippy checked. He sleeps deeply."

Snape was just about to dismiss her, when the question sprung from his lips unbidden.

"Where does Master Lupin sleep?"

"In his bed in the flat, Professor Snape," she said simply.

"On ... on his own?" whispered Snape, his skin prickling.

"Yes, Professor Snape. Quite alone ... although ..." the elf hesitated, and Snape leant forward.

"Tell me, Tippy."

"A witch watches Master Lupin. She sits in a chair and watches him sleep. Like a guard. The witch has pink hair. Tippy has never seen such a thing."

Tonks's vigil by Lupin's bedside caused turmoil in Snape's mind. He knew she would not harm Lupin, but the wolf dream had distressed Snape greatly. Perhaps, the dream was no more than the remnants of the Claim still looking for its mate during Lupin's sleeping hours, when the wizard himself wanted Snape no more. Perhaps, Snape should not seek Lupin out, but let him move on without him – finally let him go ...

Dear Merlin! I can't. I can't do it. He's mine.

Snape's whole being rebelled.

Snape would have to wait – bide his time. It was too soon after Dumbledore's death to expect Lupin to be lucid. His most important concern now was to make sure Lupin had his Wolfsbane. Perhaps, after this transformation, he could find an opportunity to talk.

The next day, Tippy took the Wolfsbane as instructed. She came back with the flask and reported to Snape that there was already Wolfsbane there – bought from an apothecary. Tippy had checked the contents and, in her inestimable opinion, the shop-bought Wolfsbane was vastly inferior to her master's brew. She had switched the contents and waited, undetected, to watch Lupin drink it down.

Snape checked the flask. There was no note. He hadn't expected one really, but a small hope had still lingered. Then he frowned as a thought occurred to him.

"Tippy?"

"Yes, Professor Snape."

"Didn't Master Lupin recognise the Wolfsbane?"

Tippy seemed to think on this for a while.

"Master Lupin made the same face he always makes when he takes the Potion, but he didn't say anything, Professor Snape."

"Thank you, Tippy. That will be all."

Snape knew that no other Wolfsbane tasted like his. He had made so many modifications over the years – mostly tailored to Lupin himself. He must have recognised it. He must have. He felt his heart lighten. He was sure of it – Lupin trusted him still.

oooOOOooo

When the Dark Mark had burnt, Snape could tell from the burn that the Dark Lord was not angry so Snape went without fear or compunction. It was a full meeting, with many of the freed Death Eaters restored to their positions.

Even as Snape and Yaxley entered the room together, Snape noticed an unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope. Draco seemed unable to take his eyes away, but Snape couldn't make out the figure's face and looked away quickly so the Dark Lord would be certain of Snape's full attention.

It was a mark of the Dark Lord's favour that his place at the Dark Lord's right hand had been saved for him. The Dark Lord was impatient for his news, and Snape relayed the date for the boy's removal by the Order. Yaxley tried to contradict him, but the Dark Lord gave Yaxley's false trail no credence.

Yaxley, desperate for approval before the inner circle, prattled on about finalising his Imperius on Thicknesse. Snape had little time for the bragging. As far as he was concerned, Yaxley should have done it properly in the first place. However, even with the curse now fully on the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Yaxley could not guarantee the fall of the Ministry by 27th July. As they discussed what means of travel the Order would use, Snape heard a wail from the dungeons. He believed it to be Ollivander and, indeed, just after, the Dark Lord declared that he would need to use another's wand to kill Potter.

Snape had surmised as much: the Dark Lord could not get the wandmaker he wanted so desperately, and Ollivander would not be able to make such a weapon as the Dark Lord needed to counter the deep wand magic that had conspired against him so far, so he was relying on another's wand. Snape suspected it would not avail him.

Snape kept his own counsel as he watched the Dark Lord as good as castrate Lucius Malfoy in his own home, but he felt no sympathy for him. Why should he? And as he felt no sympathy, clearly neither did the assembled company. Bellatrix fawned over the Dark Lord to assure him of her devotion, at least. Her avowals bored Snape, but he watched her intently anyway, his own confusion matching hers as the Dark Lord challenged her declaration of devotion.

'No higher pleasure … even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?'

'I don't know what you mean, my Lord.'

'I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.'

The cacophony of jeering laughter receded from Snape's hearing as his blood thundered in his ears and he felt his world wrench away from him, his stomach churning violently as he struggled as he had never struggled before to maintain his cold façade. He was sure his heart beat was too loud and fast not to be heard by the whole table and that it would soon burst open with pain.

As the table's occupants made sport of Bellatrix and the Malfoys, it was all Snape could do to control his body as he felt sickness rise in his gorge and a crawling sensation spread under his skin and he forced his riotous mind that wanted to scream and rage against the lie - what must be a lie - into deep Occlusion.

'Will you babysit the cubs?' Snape heard Voldemort taunt Draco quietly. But it was Snape who felt the taunt like a stilletto blade through his heart.

His fists clenched under the table, his nails digging into the palms of his hands until it hurt, so he could concentrate his mind on anything other than the devastating news he had just heard, but the Dark Lord himself pulled Snape back.

'Do you recognise our guest, Severus?'

Snape raised his smarting eyes to the upside-down face. She revolved to face the firelight and Snape recognised her: it was Charity. Sweet Merlin, they must have snatched her within the last few days. She saw him and said, in a cracked and terrified voice, 'Severus! Help me!'

'Ah, yes,' said Snape, his Occlusion thickening, as he tried desperately to formulate a plan – a reason to stop the Dark Lord torturing her – could he say she had some use, some esoteric knowledge that would assist them? But his mind was too sluggish, his shock too great. Before he knew, she had revolved to face him again.

'Severus … please … please …'

The Dark Lord silenced her and continued his diatribe against her.

'The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance … she would have us all mate with Muggles … or, no doubt, werewolves …'

Nobody laughed this time: there was no mistaking the anger and contempt in the Dark Lord's voice and Snape knew he would not be able to concoct an excuse to save her from the Dark Lord's retribution.

For the third time, Charity revolved to face Snape. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back, and quickly cast Legilimens and rendered her insensate for when the Dark Lord began to torture her. It was all he could do, but perhaps he could save her pain, if not her life. But clearly her trespass against the Dark Lord's view was too much.

'Avada Kedavra!' hissed the Dark Lord.

The body of Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, scattering most of its occupants. Snape remained seated, one shock after another crashing over him like a tidal wave, as the great snake was ordered to feast on his former colleague, just as Snape felt his own bright anguish feast on his soul.

.

A/N: What will be the aftermath of the Battle of Little Whinging when Lupin finally catches up with Snape?

Thank you to those who review.
- 101
- 102
- 103
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

You Will Not Kiss Me