Choice, by
Seeker. Rated NC17. Just borrowing, don't own them. Hopefully nobody who
owns these characters will ever read it. Snape/Lupin. Keep in mind this is
from Snape's point of view, during the events of the 3rd and 4th books,
and he doesn't have all the facts (yes, I have read the books, but he
hasn't...).
<><><><><><><><><><>
He'd known it was
going to be an awful year before First Day. Headmaster Dumbledore had
assured that when he announced the new Defense Against Dark Arts master.
It was quite mad, really.
Bringing a
werewolf to live amongst children. Use him to teach the next generation
the arts they would need to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The
first made no sense at all; the second, a nominal amount at most. For
while Remus Lupin was a monster, he was also the gentlest man Severus
Snape had ever known.
Once, they had
almost been friends. As close to friends as Black would let them, or
Potter would overlook, or Pettigrew would whine about. Once, until Lupin
had made a choice. A choice to reveal himself; a choice to betray himself;
a choice that nearly killed them both.
In the end, the
choice was made to allow them all to escape with no harm done. According
to Albus Dumbledore. But harm had been done to Snape. Harm to his body,
where the wolf's claws had torn. To his pride, when his fear and concern
were dismissed as unimportant. To his heart, which still bled.
Each made his own
choices, and each must live with them.
Sirius Black's
choices had betrayed still more friends, and ended with him as Dementors'
food in Azkaban. James Potter's choice had led him to death at Voldemort's
hands and made his son an orphan. Peter Pettigrew's choice had led to mass
murder in madness. Severus Snape's choice had led him to hell then up as
far as purgatory, where he dwelt uneasily yet. Albus Dumbledore's choice
had led them right back where they'd started.
With a werewolf
among the children and betrayal stalking the halls of Hogwart's.
<><><><><><><><><><>
By Christmas the
situation was bleak. The children were out of hand, the instructors were
too lenient, treachery underlined every brick in the castle and Snape was
near the end of his rope.
Lupin was
unfailingly calm and polite to him. It brought back memories he'd just as
soon never again saw the light of day. The wolfsbane potion worked as it
should, barely holding the danger at bay, but Snape expected every month
for it to fail and innocents to die.
Winter faded to
Spring, and tension mounted. The threat of Black's return loomed over them
all. Dumbledore stopped sleeping and starting haunting the corridors at
unexpected times. Lupin drank his wolfsbane and thanked Snape politely
each time. And with the fullness of each moon, Snape stood in the shadow
of the tower, from moonrise until sunrise, and waited for the screams that
would announce that the potion had failed to leash the werewolf.
He wasn't certain
even in his own mind upon whom the consequences of such a failure would
most difficult. Dumbledore, for giving the wrong man a third chance;
Snape, for the weakness of his remedy; Lupin, for losing to the monster at
last. In the end it didn't matter, for Dumbledore made the choice for all of
them.
Black returned,
spouting nonsense about Pettigrew living on as a rat, betrayal from the
least likely, weakest source, and Lupin believed him. Of course. Believed
him to the point he completely missed taking his potion. Snape followed
them, the foolish children, the misguided werewolf, the mad killer, saved
them all and came within a whisper of the Order of Merlin. Then it all
went to hell in a handbasket.
The murderer
escaped, with Potter and Granger's help and Dumbledore's blessing, no
doubt. Snape stared in horror at the Minister of Magic, who'd looked at
him like a savior moments before and now regarded him as if he were a
lunatic. At the children, defiance in their eyes and ignorance clouding
their minds. And at Dumbledore, looking directly back at him, telling him
with his eyes that he'd made his choice. For Black. Lupin. For Potter.
Against Snape.
Once again.
The next morning,
after another sleepless night watching the
At breakfast,
Snape stared over at Lupin for a long moment. Tired hazel eyes,
gray-flecked hair, thin shoulders drooping under his mended robes.
It hadn't had to be that way, not this time. Not really, if he'd been
given any other choice. But he hadn't. Really. Flitwick gave him the
opening he'd waited for, marveling at the sounds of the mad beast that had
kept him awake half the night.
"Oh, that
was only our own Professor Lupin," Snape said clearly, pitching his
voice effortlessly to carry directly to the Slytherin table a few feet in
front of them. As expected, Malfoy and his cronies sat up straight
and turned toward him, gossip hounds at his command. "Forgot his
potion last night. Not a smart move for a werewolf."
McGonagall, two
down from him, gasped, and he saw her fingers clench in a fist on the
table. Not at Lupin. At Snape, for countermanding Dumbledore's direct
order. Idly, Snape watched Malfoy turn and begin to spread the poison, his
pale face gleaming with excitement. One place past McGonagall's, a fork
clattered against a plate. A chair scraped. Snape kept his eyes on the
Slytherin table as Lupin walked behind him, on his way out the door. No
doubt on his way to Dumbledore, to resign, then further to his rooms. To pack.
He smelled of wet
leaves and deep forest. He made no sound.
Snape carefully
laid his cutlery beside his plate and folded his hands in his lap,
appetite gone, scowl firmly in place. It was for the best. Dumbledore had
made his choice. Lupin had made his.
Snape had made
his choice, as well.
<><><><><><><><><><>
The next two
years were hell.
Young Potter took
insane risks. Mad-Eye Moody became DADA professor, but then, not. Black
had told the truth, after all. Pettigrew came back to life. So did
Voldemort. Alliances were made. Secrets were kept. And broken.
The mark on his
arm burnt black and began to ache.
Black returned,
but Lupin didn't. Dumbledore forced a truce between Black and Snape
himself, but Snape knew it was lined with solid hatred and distrust on
both sides. Hufflepuff lost a champion and Hogwart's gained one. The
Minister of Magic allowed fear to blind him to reality, and Snape went to
war. In the dark.
It had been his
choice, after all.
<><><><><><><><><><>
He knew it would
come to this, when he made his first choice about Voldemort in anger; his
second in fear; his third in resignation. Snape hovered an inch from the
floor, wrapt in vile curses as fire ate at him from the bones outward. He
had come so close.
Learned so much.
Passed on such
valuable information.
Killed so many.
Until, in the
end, he'd had to make a final choice. Voldemort stood, his wand blunted by
Potter's raised in one filthy, bloody fist against him, and ordered Snape
to do what he'd been fighting to prevent for the last six years.
"Kill
him!" he commanded.
Potter looked up,
green eyes glazed with pain and exhaustion, and Snape looked back. Raised
his wand. Made his choice, and threw his harshest curses.
Voldemort swayed
before them, but he did not break.
In that instant,
as hell erupted around them along with the Giants, Hagrid at their head,
the cream of the survivors of the Wizard world, Dumbledore leading them,
and magical creatures of the woods facing off against the maddened Death
Eaters, Severus Snape learned the true depth of pain the human body could
suffer without actually dying. Bones strained to breaking point, skin
stretched, blood weeping through it. His mind turned on itself, the
darkness within swallowing him down, leaving him more alone than he
had ever been in his long lonely life.
Sanity had almost
escaped him when he heard the werewolf's snarl. So close to him. As close
as it had been that night twenty years before, the first time Black had
tried to kill him, innocent as Lupin had been. Snape accepted that, now,
in the last moments of his life.
"Yes,"
he thought, his mouth too filled with screams to hold words. "End it.
Now. Please."
A streak of
auburn fur leapt past him, so close he felt the coarse pelt brush his
straining arm. Past him.
Directly at
Voldemort.
The first snap of
jaw to jugular was true. With a scream that drowned out the cries of the
tortured and dying already filling the clearing, Voldemort flailed. Pushed
fruitlessly at the weight of werewolf gnawing out his throat. Gurgled.
Fell.
A wave of dark
energy pulsed around them. A shriek shook the earth. Despair and defeat
pulsed, warping the very air. For a bare moment, the battle froze, all
combatants staring at the spot where Voldemort fell. Then time began
again. Binding spells flew up from all directions, capturing
and destroying the shade of Voldemort. A few fled. A few more died. Most
of the Death Eaters screamed like the damned they were and fell on
their enemies, knowing it was a fight to the death, that there would be no
mercy as there had been the first time. No one would believe the lies now.
The direct
application of the curse ended with the life of the one throwing it, but
Snape's muscles were still locked in agony, his body still trembled and he
couldn't move. So when Draco Malfoy struggled free of the battle, stepping
over his father's body, pausing only long enough to determine
that Voldemort was indeed extremely dead, then strode over to him, Snape
couldn't do anything to defend himself. His eyes clashed with Malfoy's
gray, the insanity there instilled and nurtured by his father and
furthered, to an extent, by Snape himself. Once more, he reaped what he
had sown.
"Traitor,"
he hissed, and raising his wand he began to chant.
Agony began to
hum through Snape's body again, but this time it was brute strength, not
the exquisite application of prolonged torture that Voldemort had enjoyed.
He would not last long under that punishment. His voice broke on a scream,
as a large body threw itself against Draco, a fist coming out to shatter
his wand against the rocks. Through watering eyes, he watched in shocked
disbelief as Sirius Black broke Draco Malfoy's neck.
Snape was still
trying to believe Black had saved his life when his mind said,
"enough!" and he fainted dead away.
When he awoke in
the infirmary at Hogwart's, a day had passed. The beds were filled with
the wounded, and Poppy Pomfrey moved wearily among them, her own left arm
bound tightly to her chest, bulky with bandages. He tried to rise, but his
head swam and he quickly allowed himself to fall back to the bed, ignoring
the pain rising throughout his body. Craning his neck as best he could, he
looked for familiar faces. Lupin. Dumbledore. Potter. Black, even.
He refused to
think why he looked for Lupin first.
Potter was in a
corner close to the door. A bushy head on a cot next to his placed young
Granger. Red heads scattered about them indicated the members of the
Weasley family who survived. Snape skimmed over them, looking for brown.
Gray. Black.
A soft hand
touching his wrist nearly made him jump out of his skin, a reaction he
regretted as soon as it hit, since his entire body seized and he couldn't
hold back a hiss of pain.
"Relax,
Severus," Poppy's low voice soothed him. He glared up at her.
"Dumbledore?"
he tried to ask, choosing the safest to ask after. No sound came from his
throat. His eyes widened.
She took
advantage of his open mouth to pour one of his own healing potions down
it. After he finished coughing, she put a finger over his lips.
"You screamed your throat raw. Don't speak until it's healed.
Tomorrow, at least."
So much for
asking questions. Resigning himself to his usual status of outside
observer, he settled back against the pillow and looked over the ward
again. To his shock, Molly Weasley came right up to the side of his bed,
picked up his hand, and squeezed it.
"Thank you,
Professor Snape. Thank you for protecting Harry."
He couldn't very
well tell her how little he'd enjoyed the task nor how long he'd been
doing it, since he had no voice, so he simply glowered at her. It had no
impact. On her, or any of the others who made their way to his
side, ignoring his thunderous scowl to give him unwanted thanks. He didn't
want to listen or talk to or see any of them. He only wanted to see Lupin.
The thought
drowned his temper like a shock of ice water in the face. There was no
denying it. He had to see Lupin. He had to apologize. He should never have
let Lupin go without speaking to him. Should never have turned him away.
He'd made the wrong choice.
Again.
<><><><><><><><><><>
It was easy to
slip out the next day, with Pomfrey busy at the other end of the ward.
Others had left, as the potions and spells took effect and they healed. He
felt fine, other than a residual soreness in his muscles and a slight
cough. Summoning his robes to his hand, he slid from the bed and slipped
from the room. When he arrived at Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster was
waiting for him.
"May I leave
now or is there anything of life and death importance we need to do or
discuss?" Snape whispered, hissing much like the Slytherin he was in
order to preserve his voice. Dumbledore gave him an amused look. He looked
decades younger with the strain of the dark rebellion finally over.
"Only
this." He handed Snape a small piece of parchment with a location
on it. Snape looked from the quill-marks to Dumbledore's shrewd eyes.
"How
--" he started to ask but then stopped. He didn't need to know
how Dumbledore had known Snape wanted to find Lupin. He had, and no doubt
had for some time, and for once he was doing his best to make it easy on
Snape. Clutching the paper, he nodded. Turned. Walked from the room. Went
down to his chambers, packed a very light bag, and Disapparated.
Reapparating in a
garden at the foot of a walkway leading to a cottage, he paused. He hadn't
the faintest idea what to say to Lupin when he saw him. The door opened,
and the last face he ever wanted to see peered out.
"Well, don't
just stand there, Snape. Get in here," Sirius Black called out to
him.
Snape sighed.
Seriously considered his options, which consisted of returning to
Hogwart's, killing Black where he stood, or ignoring him while looking for
Lupin, and chose the last one. The pull was stronger now, and he knew
without knowing how that Lupin was in the room behind Black.
To his surprise,
Black stepped out before he stepped in, waving a hand to the unseen Lupin.
"Good luck, and yell if you need me." He gave Snape a serious
look. "Hurt him and I'll chew you up and spit you out."
"Thank you
for saving my life now get the bloody hell out of my way,"
Snape hissed all in one breath, through clenched teeth. Black had the
cheek to grin at him.
"Call around
in a few days," Lupin's calm voice settled the argument before it
began. "Give my best to Harry."
Black's grin
softened as he looked over at his friend. "See you at end of week.
I'll send you an owl with all the news." Then with
another challenging smirk at Snape, he sauntered off down the walk.
Snape stood,
irresolute, in the doorway until Lupin said, "All the way in or all
the way out, Severus. You're letting in the wind." Ignoring the
slight sting of blush in his cheeks, blaming it on that very wind, Snape
stepped carefully into the small cottage and equally carefully closed the
door behind him.
Words tumbled
through his head but he didn't know which ones to use first. Thank you for
killing Voldemort. Thank you for saving my life. Forgive me for spilling
your secret. Forgive me for betraying you. Damn you for betraying me. Damn
you for choosing Black over me. Please let me hold you. Please hold me
back.
He settled for
leaning against the door. Folding his arms over his chest. Staring at
Lupin. Whispering, "you look well."
"As do
you," Lupin said almost as quietly. They stood there staring at one another
until Snape began to feel very foolish. He almost gave up and turned to
go. Then Lupin moved. Or perhaps Snape did. One way or the other, they
found themselves nose to chest, and Snape closed his eyes, leaning into an
embrace he hadn't expected, giving one he could no longer hold back.
It felt like
coming home, and unlike any homecoming he'd ever had.
Without thought,
words were tumbling out. Pain and need and hope and love unadmitted,
squelched for so long together they were practically one emotion. Lupin
made tiny comforting noises, his hands roaming over Snape, his face
burrowing into the side of his neck, as Snape poured gibberish in his ear.
Pleas, explanations, demands, questions, all jumbled up together until the
words made no sense at all. To Snape.
Lupin seemed to
understand every one of them. Perhaps because when they were all said and
done, the one that came through clearest was "please."
Slender hands
were warm against his skin as they peeled the robes from him. Gentle in
his hair as they held his head still for a kiss that pulled his soul from
him and at the same time restored it to light in a way it had never known.
Strong around his back and demanding on his hips as they held him down for
the wet heat of tongue and lips against him, and trembling as they held
his body in place and straddled him.
The heat and grip
were intense around him, making his head dizzy and his muscles contract
until he arched up, nearly tossing Lupin off. A sound, a cross between a
whine and a growl, came from Lupin's half-open mouth, and it arrowed
through Snape like a knife. He had to move. Had to touch, take, surround
himself with and surrender to this man who had bewitched him when he was
still only a youth. Betrayal, fear, anger, none of it mattered when measured
against the sheer depth of need he'd held down for so long.
His hand slid
down Lupin's chest, fingers drawing runes in the sweat gleaming on his
skin, dropping down to surround his erection and caress it. The sound
changed, a hitch developing, then became a moan holding an echo of the
howl Snape had last heard from the tower so long ago in the Forest.
His hand tightened and Lupin bucked, hard, involuntary movements that
drove him further onto Snape, intensifying both the heat and the hold.
Soon, too soon, it was too much, and he yelped as he came. Sticky warm
semen dripped over his knuckles, and it was too much for Snape, as well.
Rolling them
together, haste laced with care, Snape held Lupin's shoulders flat against
the floor and thrust into him at a strong pace, deliberate movements
speeding too soon into desperate ones. Lupin lay puddled beneath him, his
own climax making him relaxed and receptive, and all too quickly Snape
found himself flying apart. Lupin's arms holding him safe, Lupin's voice
whispering gently in his ear, and Lupin's mouth against his skin were the
only anchors he had to the world.
When he stopped
shaking, he found he'd slipped from Lupin's body, and they were cuddled
side by side on the hearth rug, arms clasped tightly about one another. In
those moments of intimacy they'd communicated more clearly than they had
managed in the quarter century they'd known one another. There were still
words to be said between them, most of them difficult, some painful, some
healing. They would wait.
Severus Snape had
made his choice. For the first time in his life, he was at peace with it.
END