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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
Disclaimer: JK Rowling & her associates own the Harry Potter universe and I make no money from my stories.

Chapter List
- 98
- 99
- 100
Direct quotes from Chapter 24 of HBP are in bold and © J.K. Rowling

Chapter 99: Sectumsempra

"What reason do I give the Dark Lord for not attending Order meetings? He will know I have not left Hogwarts. Did you consider that when you were ensuring that Remus and I be kept apart?"

"I did. We will have our meetings here. Voldemort will know no differently. And you can patrol again."

"How delightful for me," said Snape, acidly.

"And you can socialise with the rest of the staff."

"I don't wish to socialise. I'm supposed to be with the Dark Lord, remember!"

"It's important, Severus. You will need to work with the staff next year."

Snape stood suddenly. He hated the references to Dumbledore's death, to the end of everything he held dear – to any thought by members of the staff and of the Order – by one particular member especially - that he walked the Light path, even if he walked in the shadows.

"This is foolishness," he snapped. "It's not as if you will tell any of the staff your plans ..."

"You know that cannot be."

"Then why do you talk such nonsense! I will be the enemy from that moment on. There's no need for me to make things any harder than they already are."

"Try to be brave, Severus ..."

Snape drew in a sharp breath as his fists whitened in anger.

"You surely aren't calling me a coward, Dumbledore! After everything you have taken from me, you can't possibly call me a coward!" Snape hissed.

"Dear boy, no. I would never call you such a thing. I am merely trying to encourage you."

oooOOOooo

Encourage me. Give me courage. Snape sat in his office. He had finished his marking and now he sat, his face resting against his steepled fingers.

Of all the things Dumbledore did and said, nothing could encourage him now. Lupin had given him courage. The thought of a life together had given him (and he believed Lupin too) the greatest incentive to persevere through everything that was required of them.

Snape took the mirror from his robe pocket. He had charmed it to be silent and unseeing. He cast a spell to it. Lupin had called it several times already. It hurt Snape not to answer – just to see and hear Lupin. Why did Dumbledore ask this of him? They could be careful. Didn't Dumbledore see: the more he worried about Lupin's absence from his life, the less effective he would be?

Didn't Dumbledore understand what it was to love?

oooOOOooo

Snape took the stairs up from the dungeon two at a time and strode to the study where the Dark Lord held court.

"Ah, Severus. You look ... disturbed," said the Dark Lord, with a knowing smile.

"I went to find the Paige children, my Lord, to continue where I left off – but they are gone."

"I tired of them, Severus. I gave them to the twins."

Snape blinked. Tired of them? They had been under Silencing Charms in the dungeon – how could they have annoyed the Dark Lord? He bit down on the question, and quashed his own guilt. He had failed.

"Very good, my Lord," he said, his face as blank as he could make it.

"You are not happy. They were just Mudbloods. I hope you still don't have a soft spot for Mudbloods – or was it just that one?"

"There may have been more information or perhaps ... some propaganda value in keeping them alive," he invented – he did not want his loyalties questioned at this stage. "Re-training them, perhaps, as an example of your wisdom."

The Dark Lord cocked his head to one side.

"You are always so level-headed, Severus."

Snape bowed.

"Everything in your service, my Lord."

"Yes, we will need to consider how to deal with children effectively. Adults can be so very tiresome about children."

"It is something I struggle with every day, my Lord."

The Dark Lord laughed. It was an ugly thing to hear.

oooOOOooo

Instead of returning to Lupin at nights, as he had just last month, now he returned to the Dark Lord, whether summoned or not. The Dark Lord praised his commitment; Bellatrix scowled and spat that he wasn't to be trusted.

He did not stay overnight, but the few hours he had there kept in constant contact with the Dark Lord's plans and he could see who the latest abductees were. Where he was asked to retrieve information from them by Legilimency, he would do so knowing it was better that he performed the spell than the Dark Lord. Most victims yielded their secrets easily enough, but Snape was selective in how much he divulged.

Snape also quickly discovered that, if he was careful, he could slip into the victim's mind and hypnotise them so they would pass into unconsciousness and feel no more pain. It was a variation of the mind carving he had performed so viciously on Lupin all those years ago, now done carefully, precisely and without a trace. With each new victim that was presented to Snape, he became more proficient at seeming to inflict pain of such severity that the victim would collapse, insensible.

The Dark Lord was so proud.

Snape passed on all the information, without censorship, to Dumbledore who, in turn, passed the names of the captives or the targets on to Shacklebolt. Targets were often saved and relocated, but captives were only rescued if they were not held in Malfoy Manor. Snape questioned this often, each death seeming to add to his burden of guilt.

"The day the Ministry breaks the wards of Malfoy Manor is the day when Voldemort will know you are not his man," Dumbledore would say.

"But, sometimes there are whole families ..." Snape would protest.

"All the more reason why you need to be around to get the information we need to protect them before they fall into Death Eater clutches."

Then Dumbledore and he would discuss information to be given to the Dark Lord and the manner in which it would be disclosed. Snape wondered unhappily if Dumbledore, too, was proud.

ooOOOooo

"How does he appear? Does he look well?" Snape pressed Tippy when she returned from delivering the first flask of Wolfsbane.

"Master Lupin asks Tippy the same questions!" Tippy declared, her expression knowing. "Master Lupin is very worried for Professor Snape and asks that Tippy checks Professor Snape's mirror is working."

"Yes, the mirror's working," muttered Snape. "Tomorrow – tomorrow you will tell Master Lupin that the mirror works but I am away and cannot answer. Tell him ... tell him it is dangerous."

"But you are not always away, Professor Snape," said Tippy, a frown forming on her face.

Snape knelt down in front of Tippy so he looked at her directly. He couldn't risk her passing on information inadvertently to Lupin that would make him question Snape's absence as anything other than needing to fulfil his missions for Dumbledore. But she was bound to both of them. How could he override any orders Lupin might give her about him?

"Do you remember how badly injured Master Lupin was?" Snape asked softly. Tippy nodded, her ears flattening. "And you remember that we had to clear out of the flat because its protective charm was broken?" Another nod. "Those people watch me all the time, Tippy. I can't lead them to Master Lupin. I have to remain away until it's safe. You must help me, Tippy. Promise me you will not tell Master Lupin when I am not on my missions. Help me to keep Master Lupin safe."

The house-elf regarded Snape, her eyes large and sad. "But Master Lupin is missing Professor Snape," the elf whispered. "And Professor Snape is sad."

"Yes, Tippy, but I must have your promise – so we can keep him safe together."

The elf blinked and her long fingers worked in the hem of her tunic. Eventually, she spoke.

"Tippy promises, Professor Snape."

oooOOOooo

Certain people seemed to have a very self-satisfied air that day.

Slughorn had come to see Snape quite early to tell him that he had acquired – of all things – Acromantula venom. Snape couldn't deny that his fingers itched to get hold of some. He listened as Slughorn told him of the giant spider's funeral. Then he excitedly told him how Hagrid had given him a whole skein of Unicorn tail hair. Snape could just imagine Slughorn inveigling his way into Hagrid's cabin to avail himself of all the rare things Hagrid stored there.

But what struck Snape as odd as Slughorn bragged breathlessly was that Slughorn didn't explain how he had managed to learn of Hagrid's pet monster's death, or why Hagrid had invited Slughorn to its funeral at all. It was just too curious.

Then Slughorn had regaled Snape with Potter's latest triumph in the Potions class the day before when most of his year were taking their Apparition tests. Snape couldn't help but wonder if these were connected. But then, Slughorn mentioned something that sent the wheels of Snape's mind spinning.

"Perfect Elixir to Induce Euphoria, it was. Just the right shade of sunshine-yellow. And ... do you know what he had added?" Slughorn chortled. "Just like his mother – a complete natural! He added a sprig of peppermint! What a stroke of genius!"

This was too much of a coincidence for Snape. His very own improvement. Where had this new-found prowess of Potter's come from? He had been a complete dunderhead in Snape's class. Snape did not believe for one minute that Potter could have become such an intuitive brewer just because Snape no longer taught him. If only he could ask Lupin to find out.

At lunch, Dumbledore was particularly spritely, more so than Snape had seen for some time.

"We are moving forward, Severus. A giant leap."

"I don't suppose you can tell me ..."

"Unfortunately, no. But, if I am granted time, we may yet see the light at the end of the tunnel."

Snape felt a small glimmer of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, his estrangement from Lupin would be short.

oooOOOooo

He was sitting at his desk, trying to find the impetus to answer Alphard's latest letters that were full his latest test results and snippets about Angharad's pregnancy. Snape liked Alphard. He liked Angharad. He respected Idris. But he was consumed with jealousy every time he tried to read Alphard's notes. He pressed his fingertips to his forehead, willing himself to disregard his own personal feelings and just concentrate on the data Alphard had provided. His efforts were interrupted by a timid knock at his office door.

Snape couldn't deny he was surprised to find Katie Bell outside. He recovered quickly, and asked her to enter.

"Professor Snape, sir," she said. "I just wanted to say ... that is ... um. Thank you. Professor McGonagall told me that you cast the counter-curse that stopped the curse spreading. So ... um .."

It was painful really letting the girl stumble over her words, but he was so surprised to find a Gryffindor in his office voluntarily, he tried not to scowl as she bit out her hesitant thanks.

" ... yes, so, thank you for your speedy action. Sir."

Snape gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Any of this school's staff would have done the same, Miss Bell," he said. If they were capable, he added to himself and saw in her eyes the same thought. "Run along."

She looked desperately grateful for the quick dismissal and almost broke into a run, but restrained herself. Snape thought how funny Lupin would have found it. He shut his office door, miserable once more.

Then he heard the soft pop of Apparition as Tippy appeared and passed the empty flask to him. He took it, his fingers folding around it almost as if he might feel where Lupin's hand had been before. Then he noticed the parchment rolled around it.

He breathed in sharply when he saw the parchment was blank. He cast the charm he had not used since Alphard had been taken prisoner last winter.

My own love,

It is the night before the full moon and I miss you so. I wish I could speak to you and see your face so you could tell me you are well. Tippy brings the Potion and tells me you are well but it's not the same as seeing you myself.

I worry for you all the time, putting yourself in danger every day. Does it really need to be every day? I know Albus said, but even so.

I hope sending this with Tippy is safe. I know an owl might be difficult. If you could just call me on the mirror so I know you are well. Or write a note back with the next flask, perhaps.

I can't believe I won't see you tomorrow. We have only once been completely apart. Dora has said she will stay, so you will be safe, my love. I can't believe she said yes after everything that happened before. We must be grateful. Without her, we would sicken terribly. Please don't worry. I know how you fret about her but it is you I will be thinking of.

But I miss you so. When we were together, the moon became special for me as it had never been before. I don't want to be without you. I am selfish. I'm sorry. Please forgive me if I've made you feel guilty. I have no right to do that when you are risking yourself all the time.

Know that I love you and miss you, my very own.

It pulled at Snape's heart to read it: Lupin's confusion was evident. What could he say in response? Should he respond?

How could he not?

It would be as if Lupin were in Egypt. Letters surely couldn't condemn Lupin's soul. Dumbledore had not demanded he never speak to Lupin again, Snape reasoned. And if he could comfort Lupin, then he himself would be comforted ... at least to a degree.

He drew a sheet of blank parchment towards himself, wishing he had the words to tell Lupin how his whole body and soul ached for him, how he wanted to curl up into Lupin's embrace and just listen to his words of love, and that nothing but Lupin made him happy. But he could not find the words for his deep feelings. Nothing seemed to do his emotions justice, but the stark and bare truth that he wrapped around the last flask of that moon.

Beloved, I love you more than life itself.

oooOOOooo

Snape had watched the progress of the moon since the day Lupin had left. He patrolled most nights as sleep eluded him. As the moon reached its apex, he timed his patrol to be in the open air courtyard so he could see Lupin's mistress in all her glory. This is how he watched it wane, and then watched it wax until it waxed full.

He had tended to Dumbledore's cursed injury the night before and arranged that the patrol be handled by another the following night. Dumbledore did not question him this time. His acknowledging nod was brief, and even sympathetic, but Snape did not care for Dumbledore's sympathy.

This evening, after dinner in the hall, he shut himself away in his rooms.

He wondered what Lupin was thinking this very moment. Did he miss Snape? Did he yearn for Snape's body the way Snape yearned for Lupin's in that special time before moonrise? Or was he chatting to Tonks as she bared her neck for him to mark her.

Snape moaned softly as he watched the sky – it was a physical ache, made flesh by the permanence of absence to come. Snape sank to the floor at the foot of his bed and hugged his legs, leaning his chin on his knees, and watched moonrise from the window Lupin had made.

Snape felt the tug in his stomach, and then nothing more. To him, it was worse than the pain of separation that there should have been. It confirmed Lupin was with Tonks – just as Snape had instructed her.

His own mind could supply the worst of scenarios – that she had replaced him completely – even before the moon - even though his own rationality told him that, even for Tonks, it would be too soon, even though he had received Lupin's written declaration of love. Sooner or later, a physical man like Lupin would sicken of waiting for Snape: he was sure of it. All the scenarios flew through his mind: Lupin taking her in the manner of the wolf, her curling up with the wolf, tending and bathing Lupin gently in the morning – all of those times Snape loved and wanted to be his own. All of those times Snape had been made to sacrifice for his vow or lose Lupin's soul.

What have I done?

Tears stung his eyes, but he didn't try to choke them back. Why bother? There was no-one to see or hear. He was - after all - quite alone.

oooOOOooo

My own love,

The handwriting was shaky. Snape wondered how soon after Lupin had transformed he had written this. He had not heard Tippy deliver it, and yet the sun was only now rising. His hands trembled slightly as he held the letter.

You thought of me enough to give the Salves to Dora. Thank you for thinking of me. I think of you constantly. I wish you could be here with me now. Last night, I pictured you holding me as I transformed. This morning, I remembered how you gather me into your embrace for us to rest together after I revert – how you can love the monster as well as the man. My love, I so long for your loving touch of the waning moon ...

Snape thought just that sentence would break him. From all of the long letter that continued to express Lupin's yearning for him, it was that sentence to which he responded.

Beloved,

Never think that I do not long for you every minute of every day.

oooOOOooo

The waning of the moon was just as hard to bear, not having Lupin to care for – it had always meant so very much to Snape. But Lupin had thought of him enough to write. It wasn't the same as bathing him, or loving him or even just taking breakfast together and talking. (Oh, he just wanted to talk to Lupin and see his wonderful smile.) But it was something.

And now that the Dark Lord expected more involvement from Snape in the torture of his victims (or as much of a replica of torture as Snape could make it), the absence of tenderness and kind words to counterbalance the cruelty was becoming harder to bear by the day.

He waited now on the letters that would come with Tippy every couple of days, with loving words and snippets of news. He read them greedily on receipt, and over and over again. He berated himself that his letters in return were always so brief. They couldn't possibly give Lupin the comfort that Lupin's long letters gave him. He wished he had a poet's soul so he could infuse a letter with all the love he felt, but even in this he felt a failure.

Sleep was harder without Lupin to soothe Snape's nightmares. Snape didn't want to take Dreamless Sleep too often, but he would take a Calming Draught after his patrol so at least his body could get some rest, although his mind never seemed to stop. When his thoughts became too dark and terrifying, he would read one of Lupin's letters. He didn't need to – he knew them word for word, but he liked to hold the tangible proof that he had not slipped from Lupin's mind.

It had only been a month. It was still early enough to tell himself it was just like when Lupin was in Egypt. He'd missed a full moon then too, when Barty Crouch had prevented his departure. He knew it wasn't the same, but he held on to Dumbledore's throwaway comment like a life-line that they might just see the light at the end of the tunnel .

oooOOOooo

This May afternoon, as he separated Gryffindor and Ravenclaw fifth formers indulging in a Muggle duel over an unpleasant Quidditch chant about the Ravenclaw seeker with a well-aimed Shield Charm, his charm on the door of the Slytherin common room activated once more. Malfoy was on the move again and Snape had his hands full. As quickly as he could, he admonished the culprits for their lack of Wizarding pride in duelling with fists and set their detentions and saw them on their separate ways. Then he made his way along the corridors teeming with students to search for Malfoy.

As Snape reached the sixth floor, a deafening scream pierced the humdrum hubbub.

'MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!'

Moaning Myrtle swooped towards him, as she whimpered, "It was Harry. He cut open that nice blond boy with a cutting curse!" and then turned to lead him, and he ran after her.

Snape couldn't credit what he was hearing but his anger was immediate as he threw the door open to find Potter rooted to the spot and Malfoy bleeding profusely on the floor. How had the boy discovered the curse of Snape's own creation? He pushed that question out of his mind. Malfoy's wounds were deep – the curse had been cast with concentrated intention, of that there could be no doubt.

Pushing Potter roughly aside, he knelt over Malfoy, drew his wand and traced it over the deep wounds as he intoned the counter-curse and the flow of blood eased; Snape wiped the residue from Malfoy's face and repeated his spell until the wounds knitted, all too aware that failure to safeguard Malfoy would see his own destruction as the malignancy of a broken Vow would overcome him. His concentration never wavered even though Moaning Myrtle was still sobbing and wailing overhead – too much was as stake. When Snape performed his counter-curse for the third time, he half-lifted Malfoy into a standing position.

'You need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that ... come ...'

He supported Malfoy across the bathroom, turning at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, 'And you, Potter ... you wait here for me.'

Snape ignored the various students who stared at Malfoy's blood-stained clothes as he marched the boy to the hospital wing, and deposited him with Poppy. He told her quickly what had happened, even noted how her hand had flown to her mouth in shock when he had told her Potter had been the perpetrator of the Dark curse.

To think, a few days ago, her shock would have given him a frisson of pleasure. Now, it only served to highlight the unworthiness of the boy for whom he had had to sacrifice all he loved, the boy whom Dumbledore valued more than he valued Snape. It was bitter knowledge.

He and Poppy helped Malfoy into a bed and, as she produced the dittany, Snape took his leave to return to Potter.

Snape stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. 'Go,' he said to Myrtle, who was wailing histrionically. She swooped back into her toilet at once, leaving a ringing silence behind her. He would speak to her later to find out the rest. He glared malevolently at Potter.

'I didn't mean it to happen,' Potter said at once. His voice echoed in the cold, watery space. 'I didn't know what that spell did.'

As if Snape would believe such nonsense: did a boy use a spell without understanding what it did? Was Potter really so idiotic that he had no idea of Spell Latin after five years at a School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Perhaps, he had picked up more Pureblood habits from Black than Snape credited. Had Black ever heard Snape use it?

'Apparently I underestimated you, Potter,' he said quietly. 'Who would have thought you knew such Dark magic? Who taught you that spell?'

'I – read about it somewhere.'

'Where?'

'It was – a library book,' Potter said. No library book contained Snape's spell, Snape knew. 'I can't remember what it was call – '

'Liar,' said Snape. He was not going to be lied to by this brat, always getting away with the most outrageous insubordination. Well, this is what that type of leniency would lead to. Snape would not countenance his Cutting Curse gaining any currency amongst the students of this school and he was not prepared for Potter to simply refuse him the information. Dumbledore wouldn't like it, but Dumbledore could be damned on this occasion.

Legilimens!

The boy was still unable to resist. Nothing had changed there. With hardly any probing, his own old copy of Advanced Potion-Making swam hazily to the forefront of his mind ... his own small handwriting declaring it to be 'the Property of the Half-Blood Prince'.

Snape broke the spell and they stared at each other, in the midst of this wrecked, soaked bathroom.

'Bring me your schoolbag,' said Snape softly, 'and all of your school books. All of them. Bring them to me here. Now!'

The boy splashed out of the bathroom. Snape waited like a statue, his anger barely contained. So there was the answer to Potter's success at Potions: it was Snape's own. Just like his father, Snape thought viciously – content to steal from Snape. His father was the same, he stole from Snape too. Finally, Snape could expose the boy for the fraud he was – even if it was just between the two of them.

Ten minutes later, Potter was back in front of Snape, who held out his hand wordlessly for Harry's schoolbag. Potter handed it over.

One by one, Snape extracted the books and examined them. Finally the only book left was the Potions book, which he looked at very carefully before speaking. It wasn't the book he had glimpsed in Potter's mind.

'This is your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, is it, Potter?"

'Yes,' said Potter, still breathing hard. Snape wondered if Potter had taken any detours along the way to be that out of breath.

'You're quite sure of that, are you, Potter?'

'Yes,' said Potter, with defiance.

'This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?' asked Snape, knowing the book he had seen in the boy's mind was certainly not a new book – indeed, it had been second-hand when Snape had bought it all those years ago.

'Yes,' said Potter firmly.

'Then why,' asked Snape, 'does it have the name "Roonil Wazlib" written inside the front cover?'

'That's my nickname,' he said.

'Your nickname,' repeated Snape, feeling his anger rising more.

'Yeah ... that's what my friends call me,' said Potter.

'I understand what a nickname is,' said Snape, as he regarded the boy coldly. He knew that the boy was lying, but it made no difference that he couldn't prove it. Potter had used a Dark curse – the sainted creature that Dumbledore moved heaven and earth for – and Snape was not going to let that pass.

'Do you know what I think, Potter,' said Snape, very quietly. 'I think you are a liar and a cheat and that you deserve detention with me every Saturday until the end of term. What do you think, Potter?'

'I – I don't agree, sir,' said the boy, unable to meet Snape's eyes.

'Well, we shall see how you feel after your detentions,' said Snape. 'Ten o'clock Saturday morning, Potter. My office.'

'But sir ...' he said, looking up desperately. 'Quidditch ... the last match of the –'

'Ten o'clock,' whispered Snape. Of course that would get the boy's attention! Snape had known the loss of Quidditch was really the only way to punish him. 'Poor Gryffindor ... fourth place this year, I fear ...'

And he left the bathroom without another word, furious. The boy he had vowed to protect was a liar, a cheat and used the Darkest of spells. But Snape couldn't deny his anger was directed at himself as well. That Darkest of spells was the one that Snape himself had created at a younger age than Potter, and he had counted himself the cleverest of young wizards. These were the spells that alienated Lily from him as each became Darker than the one before.

"But Sev," she said, when he demonstrated it. "That's never going to have an innocent use, is it? It's horrible."

"No, Lily. It could be defensive," Snape had stammered, shocked she had been so very horrified.

"A Shield Charm is defensive, Sev. Or a Disarming spell. This is so ... oh Sev, don't you see? It's nasty. It's cruel." Her small hand had touched his. "It's Dark."

He remembered how sad those beautiful eyes had looked: sad, worried and something else – something new - mistrustful.

They were arguing more and more, usually about magic like this. She no longer saw his Spell creation as fascinating and a sign of his cleverness and talent; she had started to fear it – maybe even to fear him and his allegiances. At the time, he had thought he could bring her round when she saw how powerful he would become. He had not understood then how with every Dark spell he created, he chipped away at her loyalty to him, and with it, his own soul.

The memory ripped at his heart. It was that Darkness then that had led to his Vow for redemption: the Vow that conspired to rob him of his happiness.

A/N: Thank you for your reviews. They're very much appreciated.
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You Will Not Kiss Me