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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 List
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Direct quotes in bold from Chapter 33 of DH are © J.K. Rowling

Chapter 76: What a Week, Part II

Amidst the tumult and growing carnage of Unforgiveable and maiming curses and hexes being hurled between the two werewolf packs just through the trees, and the horrific gurgling sounds coming from David's throat, it seemed as if Snape had chanted this incantation for hours rather than minutes, his concentration was so intense. It was broken suddenly by a firm hand on his shoulder. He quickly took in Lupin's shocked look, and carried on chanting over the wound that knitted and then slithered open. Lupin didn't speak, understanding the concentration required, but Snape felt a Disillusionment Charm trickle over his body. Lupin kneeled next to Snape, and mirrored Snape's wand movements with his own wand.

"You need to go, Severus!" Lupin rasped at him. "I don't think anyone else has seen you yet, but you – must – go!"

"The boy ..." Snape muttered.

"I know the counter-curse. I'll keep trying ..." Lupin said, urgently, nudging him away.

"I don't think ... I ... I tried ..."

"I know. Go!"

oooOOOooo

Snape Apparated to the street where they had bound the vampires. Smoke was rising from the devastated houses and he heard moans from the injured inside. He did not stay to help. He knew he had limited time before the Aurors arrived. He strode to the bound vampires, and unbound them, one by one.

"Snape!" Sanguini said, dusting off his velvet cape and casting a charm so that it appeared immaculate once more. "It's good to see you. Do you know what happened here?"

"No," Snape sneered. "I only heard briefly from members of the Order that vampires had been taken and a werewolf pack was being assaulted. What is going on? Tell me quickly before we appear before the Dark Lord to explain the mission's failure."

"We have failed?" Sanguini sounded stricken. "What of Infamia and Bodmin? What of Greyback's pack."

"Your kin in Darkness are destroyed. Greyback is defeated," Snape said, his face like granite. "You have failed the Dark Lord. I hope you have good reason and are prepared for the consequences."

Snape left the four standing there, and Disapparated to the Dark Lord with his news.

oooOOOooo

"It was foolish and misguided, Severus. You have started thinking with your heart rather than your head," Dumbledore said, his voice clipped with irritation and disappointment.

"Had Remus and I not been there, there is no doubt that the pack would have been overrun by Greyback and his pack, and I dare say the vampires too! Remus and David would probably have been killed as well as any Light werewolves in it," Snape barked impatiently.

"You could have been seen!" Dumbledore challenged, his worry suddenly recognisable to Snape.

"I was seen! I took care of it! And earned points for myself with the Dark Lord in the process by releasing the vampires we had bound."

Dumbledore breathed deeply and regarded Snape then nodded.

"Yes, that was quick-thinking of you," he conceded. "What did you tell him?"

"That the fracas had been reported to the Order and I went to see which of my master's assets I could salvage. I arrived before the Aurors to free the four bound vampires. Two had been killed, as far as I could determine, by trying to bite werewolves. I could do nothing about the battling werewolves. That was still ongoing. The Dark Lord was pleased that most of the vampires were saved." Snape sat heavily in the chair before Dumbledore.

"What on earth made Bodmin bite David? He must have known it would kill him?" Dumbledore asked wearily.

"Blood lust?" Snape shrugged. "Anger that I had just incinerated an ancient vampire? Truly, Albus, I don't know. I don't even know why they were on the mission. Against Muggles or wizards, I would understand the fear value, but not against werewolves. It was foolish. I will endeavour to find out, but I think it's as simple as the Dark Lord not understanding his enemy." Snape now had also relaxed in the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose very hard.

"Fudge fire-called me to …"

"Fudge?" Snape interrupted with a frown. "But Scrimgeour …?"

"… has deputised Fudge to do certain jobs for him," Dumbledore said, raising his hand against further interruptions. "As I was saying, Fudge told me that Giants had been reported in Somerset. I assume the damage must have been extensive."

"Infamia is … was … very keen on the Bombarda spell. It was deflected down onto Muggle housing, and a number of destructive hexes after. Have the Magic Reversal Squad been deployed?"

"Yes, with Healers and Obliviators. Apparently, there were a number of appalling injuries, but most have been healed. Did you go by broomstick to Somerset then?" Dumbledore said lightly.

Snape spotted the trap. What did the old coot know? "It was a warm summer's night. We wanted to fly." What would he make of that? Snape wondered.

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes twinkled. Snape pursed his lips crossly, determined to say no more.

"So, the pack is making its way to Wales?" Dumbledore asked, sitting back in his chair.

"The assault rather hastened their decision that way. When they've buried their dead, yes, they'll be on their way."

They fell into their own thoughts as a house-elf served them hot chocolate as a glorious summer's dawn broke over the castle and Snape steepled his long fingers over his nose as he thought.

"There was nothing that could be done to save him, Severus. You know that," Dumbledore said gently, watching Snape over his glasses.

"It was hearing me cast Sectumsempra that broke the Memory Charm. He remembered we'd fought a vampyr in Romania. His shock at the sudden recall let Bodmin in. If you'd seen his face." Snape waved his hand dismissively in that gesture that Dumbledore had come to recognise as waving away a distressing memory or thought. "It was as if someone had robbed him of the ability to think straight as his reality changed. It was so … pointless," Snape sighed.

"Yes. So very pointless, and yet … so much is at stake," Dumbledore said, resolutely.

"Who will tell Miss Tonks?" asked Snape.

"Remus wanted to be the one to tell her, but I need him to consolidate with the pack. I will go to see her before breakfast."

oooOOOooo

Snape's currency with the Dark Lord was high. His rescue of the four vampires, and the news he delivered that one of the Order's werewolf spies had died in the carnage of the Battle of Exmoor had been greeted with gratitude. Snape had, of course, exhibited utmost satisfaction at the death of "no better than a jumped-up half-breed". In his heart, he felt terrible guilt that he should have handled David better himself; but no matter how he looked at it, he could not see how he could have handled the boy without disrupting his cover. Sometimes, he just had to live with the guilt.

He had allocated his hated old bedroom to Pettigrew. His mind was really a riot of confused feelings about having Peter Pettigrew, Marauder and traitor responsible for Lily's death sleeping in his hated childhood bed. Snape found his wand hand was very twitchy having Pettigrew in such close proximity to him in his home. He put him to work in the cellar. He found plenty for the hated man to do that kept him out of his way. When Snape needed to brew, he set Pettigrew other tasks around the house. The rat always complained, but Snape just reminded him how the rat was there to assist him and if he had issues with that, he should take them up with the Dark Lord. It kept the rat quiet.

oooOOOooo

It used to be that reading The Daily Prophet was something a puzzle to be riddled through to find the truth behind all the Ministry-approved posturing and Potter-bashing. Now, it was a clarion call against the Dark Lord. Snape wondered how long the Dark Lord would allow that to continue as he picked up the day's edition after a full day of brewing.

The renowned and foremost Wizarding Rights advocate, Eideger Sneed, had filed papers with the Wizengamot demanding a full judicial and magical Enquiry into the miscarriage of justice against Sirius Black. It was clear to all now that Black had been innocent, and yet imprisoned without trial for twelve years before his escape. At a time like this, when it had become public knowledge that the Dark Lord had returned, and disappearances had started again, the Ministry had to be seen to be atoning for its past mis-judgements. Great play was being made of the Sirius Black Enquiry. They were calling Black, the Azkaban One. Snape raised an eyebrow with an imperceptible shake of the head. Lupin had wondered who was paying Sneed to take up the cause. Perhaps, Snape had conjectured, it was just very good publicity for the advocate. He turned to the article on various disappearances.

Disappearances, yes. He knew more than he wished about those disappearances. Many of those taken had been killed by Death Eaters - if they were lucky without torture. Already the toll within the Order was more than he could credit within a few days: Black, Emmeline, and David. Witches and wizards in positions of power known to be Light were being targeted, like Amelia Bones. The Dark Lord had left the remains of their duel as a mark of his superiority to the late Head of Magical Law Enforcement, his pride still smarting from his defeat by Dumbledore. Others – other less worthy opponents had been despatched and their remains Vanished or transfigured by the Dark Lord. Snape 'obtained' the ongoing information from Wilkes to give the list to Dumbledore for filing with the Wizengamot, when the time came.

And now, the Dark Lord was attacking the Muggle government too. A Muggle junior minister, Chorley or something, had been Imperiused to believe he was a duck, but with homicidal tendencies. It was the Dark Lord's idea of a joke. Apparently.

He put the paper down, and pinched his nose. It was all happening so fast now. He heard a faint pop, and, wand drawn, he crept to the kitchen. Tippy waited there, her eyes wide and more fearful than he had ever seen as she worried her tunic furiously. She whispered quickly,

"Headmaster Dumbledore sent Tippy to bring Professor Snape. He is dying."

oooOOOooo

As soon as Snape righted himself from the Floo, he saw Dumbledore sagged sideways in the throne-like chair behind the desk, Tippy appeared next to Snape, ready for her instructions as Snape rushed to Dumbledore's side and ran his wand over him, halting as he saw his right hand dangling over the side, blackened and burned, the charring slowly continuing to approach his wrist. A curse then. Had the Malfoy boy already succeeded? Had Snape so dramatically underestimated him?

Quickly, Snape began to incant to arrest the curse in the hand. Oh, but it was as Dark as pitch, and powerfully malign. Snape felt it as he cast.

"Tippy," he said quickly as he finished the first set of incantations that stopped the charring in its tracks, "in my robe pocket, take the key to my secure cabinet. You know the passwords and incantations. Bring the ceremonial goblet and the Spiritus Vitae. It is gold in colour. Hurry now!"

The little elf nodded and Disapparated. Snape began new counter-curse incantations, taking in what lay on the surface of the desk as he heard Dumbledore revive slowly as the little elf reappeared and measured out the Breath of Life into the goblet.

Dumbledore was now semi-conscious. Snape continued the counter-curse incantations, pointing his wand at the wrist of the hand, while with his left hand he tipped the goblet full of Spiritus Vitae down Dumbledore's throat. After a moment or two, Dumbledore's eyelids fluttered and opened.

'Why,' said Snape, without preamble, 'why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realised that. Why even touch it?'

A poorly-made gold signet ring inlaid with some black stone with a mark Snape couldn't quite make out lay on the desk before Dumbledore. It was cracked; the sword of Gryffindor lay beside it.

Dumbledore grimaced.

'I ... was a fool. Sorely tempted ...'

'Tempted by what?' Snape asked, sharply. He could not imagine what would tempt Dumbledore with all his deep knowledge of magic to have trifled with such a patently Dark object.

Dumbledore did not answer. Snape felt his temper rising that Dumbledore, the Order's leader, had taken such a risk with himself, and Snape did not even know why.

'It is a miracle you managed to return here!' Snape spat furiously. 'That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being -'

Dumbledore raised his blackened, useless hand, and examined it with the expression of one being shown an interesting curio.

'You have done very well, Severus. How long do you think I have?'

Dumbledore's tone was maddeningly conversational; he might have been asking for a weather forecast. Snape hesitated, as he realised how short the time was and how there could be no curing it. 'I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread, eventually, it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time.' That was always the Dark Lord's intention when casting them, after all. Yes, Snape recognised the Dark Lord's curse-work, all too well.

Dumbledore smiled. The news that he had less than a year to live seemed a matter of little or no concern to him.

'I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus.'

'If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!' said Snape furiously, feeling impotent when ten, fifteen minutes earlier might have made all the difference. He looked down at the broken ring and the sword. 'Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?'

'Something like that ... I was delirious, no doubt ...' said Dumbledore. With an effort, he straightened himself in his chair. 'Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward.'

Snape was utterly perplexed as a worm of worry worked its way into his gut. Dumbledore smiled.

'I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.'

Snape said down in the chair across the desk from Dumbledore . He really didn't want to talk about Malfoy's spoilt offspring who Dumbledore had seen fit to save; he wanted to know more of the subject of Dumbledore's cursed hand and how it had happened and why Dumbledore had endangered himself so grievously. He was sure these things were pivotal to their cause, but the other held it up in polite refusal to discuss the matter further.

Scowling, Snape said, 'The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius's recent failures. Slow torture for Draco's parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.'

'In short the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,' said Dumbledore. 'Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?'

There was a short pause.

'That, I think, is the Dark Lord's plan,' Snape said sourly.

'Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?' The air hung heavily between the two men as the understanding passed that the Dark Lord expected to gain control of the Ministry and, with it, the school. Dumbledore was expected to be killed, and his killer appointed Headmaster in his stead. Snape felt his body wash with cold fear that Dumbledore could talk so ... that it could possibly be so ... imminent.

'He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes.'

'And if it does fall into his grasp,' said Dumbledore, almost, it seemed, as an aside, 'I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?'

Snape gave a stiff nod, finding himself unable to utter the affirmative as this new reality seeped into every pore, chilling him to the bone.

'Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help and guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you -'

'- much less since his father has lost favour. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius's position,' Snape rambled, but seeing the flaw in Dumbledore's plan to watch young Malfoy.

'All the same, try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort's wrath.'

Snape raised his eyebrows and his tone was sardonic as he asked, 'Are you intending to let him kill you?'

'Certainly not. You must kill me.'

There was a long silence, broken only by an odd clicking noise. Fawkes the phoenix was gnawing a bit of cuttlebone as Snape's gut spasmed and his jaw clenched. Was he out of his mind? Had the curse destroyed his wits? Snape wanted to shout. But that worm of worry now worked in combination with the chill of fear. Of course, Dumbledore meant it.

'Would you like me to do it now?' asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. 'Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?'

'Oh, not quite yet,' said Dumbledore, smiling. 'I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight,' he indicated his withered hand, 'we can be sure that it will happen within a year.'

'If you don't mind dying,' said Snape roughly, suddenly regretting every time he had hidden behind his facade of granite that now Dumbledore would think Snape capable of this action anymore, 'why not let Draco do it?'

'That boy's soul is not yet so damaged,' said Dumbledore. 'I would not have it ripped apart on my account.' Snape was horrified.

'And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?' The sickness in the pit of Snape's stomach threatened to overwhelm him. Always – still - so casually disregarded.

'You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,' said Dumbledore. 'I ask this one, great favour of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year's league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved. Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it.'

His tone was light but his blue eyes pierced Snape as ... if the soul they discussed was visible to him. If anyone had told him all those years ago on that hilltop that when Dumbledore asked what Snape would give him, it would include this – he simply could not credit it.

His heart hammered violently. He had killed before. Of course, he had. The Dark Lord's service required murder as a minimum; what the Dark Lord had doted on was the ingenuity that Snape had brought to his killings. His own curses; his exquisite poisons.

But this … this … servitude he had entered into with Dumbledore was not supposed to encompass killing on his behalf, rather than the Dark Lord's.

Lily had not survived. The overwhelming desolation of his grief and his complicity gave him, for the first time in his life – empathy – for what he had done to others with so much relish. He had needed … craved … absolution for his crimes, first and foremost for Lily, but ultimately, for all the ravages he'd perpetrated on his own soul.

But now this …

Before this night, no wizard or witch would have been a match for Dumbledore, in Snape's estimation. Now, he was mortally wounded. If Dumbledore fell into her clutches, Bellatrix would torture him to insanity and beyond; her brutality was beyond even Snape's vivid imagination. It wasn't moot. It would happen. If Draco didn't do it, Auntie Bella would be there to assist.

No. Snape could not allow that.

For all Snape's many justified complaints against the man before him now, he had helped Snape learn to Occlude to control his fear of the wolf; he had offered him a way to seek his absolution, although the path was hard; he had taken the role of confessor in those early days and listened to the worst of Snape's life and the very worst of Snape's excesses. He rarely judged him; when he did, it devastated him. If Snape were honest, Dumbledore had become for him, more of a father figure than his own father had ever been.

This man had told all who criticised Snape, from the aftermath of the first war to this second war, in the teeth of stringent opposition, that he trusted Severus Snape. And now, he trusted him with the final act of ending his life painlessly. Snape wished it would pass to someone else, but there was no-one. For impassive, cold-blooded killing – it could only be Severus Snape.

His stomach roiled. Bile rose into his mouth. He could not speak. At last, Snape gave another curt nod.

Dumbledore seemed satisfied.

'Thank you, Severus. We will need to work together to ensure we have a failsafe system to alert you if that time comes. For now, you must speak to no-one of it – not even Remus.'

oooOOOooo

Snape did not sleep that night. He stared at the ceiling, barely blinking. So many things he had forgotten to ask in his shock at the request.

How would they tell Lupin?

How would he escape being thrown into Azkaban?

How would Dumbledore leave evidence to exonerate Snape of his killing when the time was right for the world to know?

The questions jumbled in his brain and contrived to rob him of his sleep. He wished Lupin were here now to hold him. Snape felt as if he were falling ... spiralling downwards ... every time he closed his eyes. He kept them open. And stared.

oooOOOooo

Snape shut his front door, rubbing his stinging hand and wrist as the Unbreakable Vow continued to wend into his skin and his blood stream where it would work its insidious way into his magical core. There it would squat like a spider until he fulfilled his Vow. If he failed, like the time bomb it was meant to be, it would fuse and then extinguish his magical core and he would die. Nothing could stop it.

Lupin would no doubt tell him he was foolish to have made an Unbreakable Vow. Well, he had already promised Dumbledore to do the deed under the ancient geas he owed the older wizard. This just overlaid that obligation; entrenched it deeper – enslaved him further.

If he were honest with himself, when Narcissa had broken down in his arms, it had almost unmanned him to see the previously glacial woman so distraught, and her foul sister, so condemnatory of her for not wishing to sacrifice her son. As she had collapsed against him, he had remembered with painfully sharp clarity the events of Christmas night, not yet seven months ago: how she had managed to get him, badly tortured and broken, back to Spinner's End even though the Dark Lord expressly forbade Death Eaters to assist each other after correction. She had defied the Dark Lord for him; it behoved him to defy the Dark Lord for her. Another layer of obligation. A life debt. He was happy to pay it.

As he made his weary way to bed, he checked Pettigrew was safe in his room and then warded his own bedroom against the rat. The weekend would see Lupin home in London. How it angered him that he could not spend all of his summer with him. He needed to get rid of Pettigrew, but he must not rush. To rush would lead to greater expectations for success of the poison. He had to restrain himself but, oh, Snape was so desperate to see Lupin. To hold him, and be held. To tell him all he needed to told. To make sure he understood. He missed him so.

It had been such a week: such a terrible week of death, and of death to come.
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You Will Not Kiss Me