Chapter 16
"He must have been summoned by Voldemort," Remus told himself over and over again as he turned off the rusty shower faucet and reached blindly past the yellowed shower curtain for a towel. "Dumbledore seemed to think so."
Stepping out of the claw-footed old tub, Remus stared blankly at himself in the tarnished mirror hanging over the stained sink. His own face gazed gloomily back through the ripples of the old glass, its profile rendered indistinct by the warped silver backing. With a sigh he picked up his comb and began running it through his water darkened hair and grimaced at how the pale light of the cramped little bathroom's single tiny, heavily frosted window made it appear completely consumed by gray. The dull light filtering through the damp air leached the color out of his skin and even his eyes, leaving them pale and wasted. When a cloud covered the sun and his reflection effectively disappeared; a shiver trickled like icy water down his spine as the mirror consumed him in a gray emptiness.
With a grunt he slammed the door of the bathroom open, breaking the blank monotony of peeling paint and yellowing porcelain. Shuddering at the strange, eerie sense of dislocation within him, he turned back to the mirror and picked up his comb again.
Shrugging into one of his more worn robes, he knelt to pull on his scuffed shoes. The leather was cracked and one of the laces was fraying, but they would hold until the winter at least. As he leaned forward to tie his right shoe he noticed Snape's boots tossed haphazardly in the corner, wedged between the open kitchen door and the wall.
Finished securing his own shoes, he glanced curiously into the kitchen. He wasn't terribly surprised to find the glass shards gone and the bloodstains scoured from the countertops and the floor. Closing the door, he pulled Snape's boots out from the corner and turned them over in his hands. His first impression was that they had once been quite fine. The leather was thick and supple, and the toe was strongly reinforced. After years of making due with his own shoes, however, Remus could see the signs of age and repair in Snape's boots quite clearly.
The steel reinforcements for at least half the lace eyeholes were missing, some replaced with brass or copper. The laces themselves did not match each other exactly, one darker and thinner than the other. The rubber soles, too, were clearly not the originals, and were a good bit newer than the rest of the boot. Remus turned them in his hands, noting the lighter color of the leather where the boots had been stretched at the ankles, the buttery softness of the worn leather at the top where the boots' collars had rubbed against Snape's leg, the shine where they had been polished by the hem of his robes. Remus put them down gently, a frozen melancholy settling quietly over him like an early snow over autumn leaves.
After a moment he stood, brushing dust from the knees and seat of his robes, and stepped out the door and into the darkness of the third floor corridor. After the warm, slightly shower-damp air of the little suite, the corridor felt dry and cold, and by the time he reached the door to the basement kitchen, he was fighting a sneeze. He was about to push open the door and see if there was still any lunch out when a dry, claw-like hand gripped his elbow.
"Lupin. A word."
"Moody?" Remus turned, sneeze forgotten, and came face to face with the scarred old Auror. The crazy blue eye swung appraisingly up and down Remus' body, and he felt unaccountably nervous. "What do you want?" The blue eye stopped whirling and Moody sneered, showing a mouthful of broken teeth.
"I'm prepared to listen to your explanation of what's going on before I go and tell Dumbledore, but don't presume to wait on my patience," Moody smirked. Remus' stomach tightened around the hard fact that Moody knew something and the shocked realization that he was being interrogated. What had he done to merit the suspicions of his partners?
"What are you talking about, Moody?" Remus tried to hide his anger and itchy fear, but could feel it creeping out in his voice. Moody sneered again.
"Last night. Care to explain where you were and what was so wrong with Snape's legs that you had to carry him in and up the stairs?"
"He was drunk." He tried to look sincere, but Moody sneered and pressed closer, bringing his scarred face close to Remus'.
"Tell me, Lupin, what was in Snape's pocket?" Remus blinked, blood hot and solid in his unyielding veins.
"I have no idea. Why don't you ask him?" Remus fought the urge to step backward, away from the Auror's verbal assault.
"You are a horrible liar, Lupin. Tell me why Snape had bags of white powder and two Muggle singers in his pocket." Remus felt a drop of icy sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades. His head pounded heavily and his mouth was suddenly dry.
"Singers? He can't fit Muggle singers in his pockets...."
"Don't play games with me, Lupin!" Moody growled, his hot, slightly sour breath suffocating Remus. "Give me one good reason not to go straight to Dumbledore about this!"
Remus sighed. Let Dumbledore deal with his obsessive ex-Auror; Remus had enough to deal with as it was. "Because Dumbledore already knows. If you want to know more, go ask him."
Moody made sure his face remained blank, not betraying his boiling curiosity. With a curt nod he left the obviously flustered younger man and stomped back out of Grimmauld Place.
Snape fell to his knees as soon as he entered the Dark Lord's chambers and the heavy doors closed behind him. He didn't need to look up to know he would be in an oppressively dark room, its windows shrouded in heavy, dusty velvet. He crawled, guided by what he could see from under the edge of his hood, into the dim circle of light cast by the single gilded branch of flickering candles.
The Dark Lord stood ominously before the heavy, age stained oaken chair that served as his throne as Snape creeped forward. Snape stopped, flinching backward as the Dark Lord stepped back and out of his reach, leaving Snape's hand grasping at the air like a grub turned up from the earth. Long habit and the spike of fear quickly disengaged his mind from his emotions, a layer of numbness coating his thoughts even as he felt adrenaline and dread cramp his muscles and churn in his stomach. He felt the odd, familiar mechanical slowing of his thoughts as they separated from the impetus for their action. Intellectually, he could see that the Dark Lord was furious, and he struggled to find the emotion to excite his thought processes into motion. His body was flooded with fright and sick anticipation, but his mind floated above the viscous sea of his emotions, only a nagging thirsty desire that he tried desperately to ignore still capable of distracting him. A thirst he would be unable to quench if he didn't leave alive... his thoughts quickened.
"Severusssss." The Dark Lord's soft, bloodless voice slid into his ears like ice crystals, and he watched in a clinical manner as his body began to shake in fear, muscles contracting in anticipation of pain as his subconscious animal brain continued to respond to stimuli. He knew the Dark Lord took obscene pleasure in the fear of his followers.
"My Lord! My Lord, please allow me the honor of touching your robes - " He dispassionately regarded the hot, familiar shame that flooded his chest at the shaking, uncontrollable whine in his voice and the desperate reach of his hand. The Dark Lord sneered.
"And allow you to sully me with your filthy paws? Worms would weep to have you named as one of them." The Dark Lord began to pace and Snape's body twitched involuntarily at each sharp click of a heel.
"It is time for you to become useful, Severus."
Remus watched the grizzled old man stomp out the door into the dazzling afternoon sunlight and felt the wave of heated air that pushed through the door at his exit. Remus sighed again and turned to push open the door to the kitchen.
The light filtering through the high, dusty windows had the same diffuse quality as the light that had erased him in the grayness of his bathroom, leaving Remus with a faint sense of unease as he crossed the long room to where a variety of blackened pots, scoured pans and dented tea kettles all hung on a bleached wood drying rack. Even his personal favorite tea kettle, a bright, cheerful, copper pot-bellied affair, seemed leached of life by the pale light the windows managed to wring out of the bright afternoon. Poor Sirius, stuck in this dead place...
With a shock, he realized how long it had been since he had last thought about his dearly departed friend. Cold, tingling guilt welled up out of Remus' chest at the thought that Sirius' worst enemy was now taking up all of his time. I guess he won in the end, Padfoot, he ruminated glumly, and felt a ridiculous urge to cry at his own absurdly immature thoughts. Choking on a sobbing laugh, he grabbed the little copper teakettle off of the rack, not caring as the pots and pans almost rattled off the stand with the force of his motion. I'm losing it, Padfoot; I'm really losing it. Despite the tears blurring his vision, he managed to put together a decent pot of tea and was soon sitting at the scarred table nursing a chipped ceramic cup of Earl Grey.
Through the wet sounds of his own breathing he could hear the pulse of the old mansion around him. The muffled steps from the floors above as someone strode down the corridor caused the walls around him to creak; heavy steps on the stairs jangled the windows in their leaded frames. A muffled shout was followed by the squealing of trainers on hardwood floors. Remus felt dampened, like an early morning fog. Pressure in his ears muted the immediacy of the world around him...
"- I'm not cleaning up after you, boys, so you had better get to work making that room habitable for Harry – oh, Remus! There you are!" Molly Weasley bustled into the kitchen, breaking the stillness of the dim room. The twins followed her, heads hanging theatrically, but winking to each other as soon as their mother's back was turned. "I was wondering if you would ever wake up; Dumbledore told me not to bother you. You must be famished – there's some cold cuts and sliced bread in the icebox, if you want something to eat. Here, I'll make you a sandwich." As soon as Mrs. Weasley's back was turned, her wayward progeny made for the door. "Hold it, you two. I want that room spotless, you hear me?"
"How d'you do that, mum?"
"Yeah, really, it just isn't fair, you know."
"Hey, maybe we could create a sweet that gives you eyes in the back of your-"
"Parental pasties - "
"Go clean up that room!! Mustard, Remus dear?"
"Yes, please, Molly," he replied, a tiny smile bubbling up out of somewhere to tug at his mouth as the twins scrambled out of the kitchen and back up the stairs. He could hear their trainers squeaking as they took the sharp turn onto the first floor landing, and his mood settled heavily back over his shoulders. Wait a minute – "Did you say Harry's coming hom – er, to Grimmauld Place?" A sharp wire of panic slithered through his gut. Harry and Snape got on together like a lit match and dry tinder, and Remus knew he would be in the middle of it all. He told himself that the sinking feeling in his chest had nothing to do with the thought of having to deal with Harry's grief over Sirius, before he himself had managed to come to grips with even a small part of his own sorrow. His morose thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Weasley plopping a thick sandwich down on the table in front of him.
"Yes he is, the poor dear, finally getting away from those awful Muggle relatives of his. He'll be here where we can take care of him. Oh, the poor boy," she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her flowered apron, "he'll be wanting his Godfather..." Noticing Remus' increasing gloom at the mention of his cherished friend, she cleared her throat and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Remus, it'll be all right." At her quiet words, Remus could feel his face heat as hot, salty tears welled up in his throat, the fear and exhaustion and grief of the past month hammering through him. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep the building wail inside, he tried to turn away but a pair of motherly arms wrapped around him and released his sob. "Sh, sh, Remus..."
Remus was beyond embarrassment as he was folded into the welcoming embrace, not noticing when Mrs. Weasley surreptitiously put up a simple privacy charm. It wasn't long, however, before he managed to grip his emotions again and pulled away to fish his handkerchief out of his sleeve to wipe his running eyes and nose. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, I shouldn't have fallen apart like that..." He blew his nose again, fighting the strange urge to tell Mrs. Weasley everything, to spew out all the acid feelings that had been building up inside him, to release the words pressing into his mouth. Mrs. Weasley must have read his reluctance in his eyes, because she smiled and patted him on the shoulder.
"You don't have to tell, me, Remus, Dumbledore told me you were going through a rough patch right now - " They both looked up as a muffled boom sounded from above. "Ooh, those two, if they've blown up the room... Excuse me, Remus. Honestly, they've finally got their own flat to demolish..." She charged out the door to the kitchen, leaving Remus tired and slightly dazed, hot embarrassment enflaming his skin.
The sun had sunk in a blaze of fiery glory through the smoke stained air above London, and the brooding old mansion was unusually quiet. Dusty blue shadows pressed in on the coppery squares of sky visible through the leaded panes of glass that made up the parlor windows, but Remus felt too weighted down to even wave his wand and light some candles. The darkness slowly swallowed the sky as color drained beneath the horizon. Sinking deeper into the musty chair, Remus tried not to feel claustrophobic as the hot, heavy air pressed down on him.
Everyone was at Hogwarts, planning the next day's smuggling expedition for Harry. Unable to gather the energy to even leave his seat, Remus waited, worrying listlessly. The first stars were beginning to show and the house next door had begun to play muffled Muggle rap music when a sharp tap at the window signaled an incoming owl.
Remus heaved himself to his feet and reached over to unlatch the window. The old latch had been painted over a long time ago and it now left white flecks on his palm as he pushed it. A Great Horned owl flew in on silent wings, bringing the scent of night into the parlor with a subtle change of pressure and a puff of cooling air.
The neighbor's music was loud in Remus' ears as he reached for the letter clasped in the owl's fearsome talons. It blinked huge, burnished copper eyes at him as he read the letter.
Dear Remus,
Not ten minutes ago, Severus returned to his rooms at Hogwarts. He refuses to speak with me, but has agreed to talk to you.
The floo in my office is connected to Headquarters.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Remus looked up from the letter with several conflicting emotions churning in his chest.
On one hand, he felt a sullen resignation toward Dumbledore's tugging on the puppet strings. On the other hand, he felt surprised shock that Snape would rather give his report to Remus instead of Dumbledore. His tickling curiosity nipped at his mind, and he couldn't help but feel... what? Not touched, exactly, but... was this the extended hand of friendship?
"Ouch!" He jumped and almost dropped the letter when the large owl reached over and nipped his finger. Glancing into the lamp like eyes, he muttered an apology. "Tell the Headmaster I'll be there." As soon as the words left his mouth, the owl launched itself powerfully from its perch and left on hushed velvet wings.
Remus found himself spat out of the hearth and onto the plush carpet of Dumbledore's office. A single magical lamp was lit, its low light casting a warm glow across the desk littered with papers and delicate silver instruments turned golden by he warm glow. A sleepy trill greeted him from the gilded phoenix perch and he turned to see the fiery bird outlined by the deep blue evening sky.
"Hey, Fauks. Where's the Headmaster?" The graceful head dipped and he looked pointedly at the desk. Remus followed the phoenix's gaze and saw a scrap of parchment with his name on it.
-Remus -
I am occupied at the Order meeting. I am sure you remember your way to the dungeons.
Thank you for your kind and caring aid in this matter,
Albus Dumbledore-
"That's me, caring and kind. Good old Remus." Remus sighed to himself. "Don't bother to show me the door, Fauks, I know where it is."
He couldn't help but feel slightly manipulated, he mused as he came down the moving staircase and stepped absently past the gargoyle. But at the same time, he knew that he owed it to the old wizard who had risked so much for him, and probably owed it to Snape, too.
He didn't pause until he had reached the now familiar green shield with its embossed silver serpent. He stood, momentarily stilled by a shifting sense of uneasiness. Shaking his head he reached up and knocked firmly. The heavy metal boomed hollowly and rebounded slightly off its frame. After waiting and receiving no answer to his knocks, Remus pulled out his wand.
Remus' prickly unease increased as the shield swung open at his simple 'alohamora'. The room beyond was dimly lit, too dark for his eyes to immediately pierce. Through the cool, night tinged currents that traveled the dungeon corridors, Remus could feel the heavier, almost stale air of the room before him. "Severus?" He hesitated for a moment before stepping across the threshold and into the room, holding the door ajar behind him. "Sev-" There was a grunt, and as his eyes adjusted Remus could see Snape jerking up from where he had been sprawled across the worn blue couch dominating the small parlor.
"L-lupin? But -" Snape stopped, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the light from the corridor. As he shifted, Remus could see a bottle clutched tight in his trembling hands. Remus stood awkwardly in the doorway, his nose wrinkling at the sharp, heavy scent of alcohol worming its way into his sinuses. A heavy, hopeless melancholy began to settle across his shoulders.
"You didn't set your wards... d'you mind if I light some candles?" He felt wooden, every motion aborted by a counter motion as he struggled with what to do.
Find out where he's been, then leave. That's all you have to do. He shook his head. Try and help, damnit, don't run away! What if people had run away from you when you needed help? When Snape failed to respond, Remus flicked his wand and lit the small, almost cave like room. "Merlin, Snape!"
Snape sat shakily on the edge of the couch, his large hooked nose framed by the greasy curtain of hair falling in his eyes. One cheekbone was bruised, the eye above it swollen half shut and blackened. His chin was heavily shadowed with stubble, and the old cut over his eye had reopened and was seeping a thin stream of yellowish fluid. The black robe he was wearing was streaked gray with dust, and Remus could see bare feet poking out from under the hem. They were bruised, the toenails outlined in dried blood. Remus remembered Snape stepping barefoot across the crushed glass littering the floor of the tiny kitchen in the suite back at Grimmauld Place, and the old, if well cared for, boots left in the corner.
"Er, you left your boots, this morning..." Remus mentioned, looking away with his stomach churning uneasily with disgust as Snape absently took an unsteady swig from the bottle, still watching Remus. Does he have any idea how... pathetic he looks sucking on a bottle? That was not a helpful thought, Remus. Under the reek of the alcohol, Remus could smell sharp pain, the buzz of shame, old sweat, and a hint of the slow seep of infection. "Sn - Severus..." He didn't know what to say. Snape's unbruised eye was red rimmed and bright, as if he had been crying, and his cheekbones and nose flushed. A million questions crowded his mind, but memories of what his mother had done for him after a Change, when he woke up bloody and battered and helpless, pushed to the front of his mind. "Okay, Severus, let's get you cleaned up."
The staffroom was warmly lit, the windows open to the forest scented summer night breeze. The trill of crickets and the occasional hoot of the school owls wafted in on the fresh gusts of air. Around the table sat the inner core of the Order, laughing and talking earnestly as they waited for the Headmaster to return from whatever had needed his attention. The Weasleys had gathered around the end of the table nearest the window, while the Aurors had claimed the seats nearest the door. A middle aged brunette witch and a pinch-faced Ministry wizard were arguing animatedly with Arthur and Molly Weasley. Mad Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt were conferring quietly while Tonks glanced at the door.
"What d'you think ol' Dumbledore's up to?" she asked absently, nudging Moody with her elbow. The old ex-Auror chuckled nastily.
"Oh, I reckon I have a pretty good idea," he laughed, ignoring Shacklebolt's warning frown. "Snape. The Werewolf, too, I'd wager."
"What about Remus?" she asked with a small frown, turning and focusing on Moody properly.
Moody cackled, electric blue eye swinging around. "Those two came in at one in the morning last night, Snape all done up on some Muggle drug. Probably the same one he was on when we first caught 'im, years back." He narrowed his eyes as Tonks' widened and he ignored Shacklebolt's half curious, half censoring gaze.
"What drug...?" Tonks was watching him sharply. Moody smirked inwardly - he had seen the looks she cast at Lupin. Perhaps she might convince Lupin of his folly in aiding the slimy murdering Death Eater scum.
"Herin, or something like that," he said with calculated nonchalance. Tonks' father had been a Muggle; she might know something useful about it.
"Heroin? That's a very dangerous drug. Are you sure-?"
"I know next to nothing about Muggle drugs. I do remember him screaming for it in the holding cell at Azkaban, before that travesty of a trial." He frowned past Tonks at the door to the staffroom. "Got away with killing more people than are in this room, the bastard did, and now he's teaching children. A bloody shame." He paused for a moment as something clicked in his mind. "Did you say the drug is dangerous?"
"Yeah. Rots your brain, it does. Go in any Muggle slum, you'll find heroin addicts, too far gone to get off the street -" Moody cut her off.
"Addicts? It's addictive? How addictive?" An idea was squirming to life in the back of his head.
Tonks gave him a thoughtful look. "Very, I think. Why?"
Moody fought to keep his face smooth. "Oh, just curious." She gave him another calculating look and was about to say something when the door to the Staffroom swung open to admit the Headmaster.
"All here? Excellent – shall we begin?"
Remus reached forward and grabbed Snape's sharp, bony elbow. Snape looked at him with dull surprise and let his arm hang limp in Remus' grip. "Wha'?"
Remus was unnerved by Snape's lack of anger. He had expected Snape to burst furiously at his touch, had expected a struggling, spitting, hissing handful. "Uh - Severus?" Had he been cursed with a befuddlement hex? Were these the signs of long-term exposure to the Cruciatus Curse? Or is he just drunk? Remus sat down on the dusty couch next to Snape who promptly slumped away from him, sloshing alcohol out onto his hand.
"Why're ye 'ere?" Snape slurred, eyes unfocused. His body seemed to be wracked with uneven waves of trembling.
"Dumbledore asked me to see how you were doing. Why didn't you let him in?" At Remus' words, Snape flushed. You didn't want him to see you like this, did you? "Come on, you need to have your eye looked at. At least let me clean that cut." Remus stood and reached for Snape's arm again, but he pulled it clumsily out of his reach.
"No! Go 'way!"
"Severus-" Remus reached again and snagged the flailing arm. "Come on – bloody – hell, Snape - " He pulled the other man off the couch, almost unbalancing when Snape stumbled and fell to his knees. Kneeling, Remus slung Snape's arm across his shoulders and heaved him to his feet. Snape moaned slightly and leaned his head on Remus' shoulder; he managed to suppress the urge to gag at the gin soaked breath in his face and hauled Snape to the bathroom, flicking his wand with his free hand and lighting the small, tiled room. Sitting Snape on the cover of the toilet, Remus grasped his shoulders and tilted his head to the light.
Snape's unbruised eye rolled loosely into his skull before facing forward again. The other eye was surrounded by puffy, deep purplish black and green tissue that made his eye appear three times its normal size. The eye itself was closed to a mere slit and was leaking fluid. The swelling had stretched the skin over his cheekbone and the bridge of his nose painfully tight. "Merlin, Snape! What happened to you?!"
Snape mumbled something unintelligible and tried to raise the bottle to his mouth. Remus easily restrained his arm, and Snape looked at him in dull surprise before trying to lift it to his mouth again. When that failed he gaped silently for a moment before he turned away. Remus realized he was crying.
"Severus? What's – what's wrong?"
"Gerrout!"
"Severus – tell me - "
"G-go!"
"I'll go when you tell me what's wrong," Remus tried.
"Will ye – really?" Snape sniffed, gazing pleadingly through his good eye.
Remus felt an unfamiliar jolt of deviousness and gritted his teeth to keep his tongue from abandoning him. "I'll leave – if you give me a Wizard's Oath that you will sit down and talk to me when I want and for as long as I deem necessary." He felt dirty, slimy inside as he forced the words out.
"Wiz'd's Oath? Ye'll leave?"
"Yes. I'll leave right now."
"Awright."
I'll never be able to live with myself again, Remus thought to himself as he raised his wand.