Snupin Darkfic Challenge: What Defines
May. 28th, 2009 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drachenminaTitle: What Defines
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drachenmina
Rating: PG15
Word Count: 1,500
Pairing(s)/character(s): Severus Snape/Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin/Tonks, George Weasley, Tom Riddle
Challenge: Dark Side prompt: George Weasley, Tom Riddle, pain
Summary: Non-magic AU. England is under military rule following a coup by Tom Riddle, self-styled First Lord of the Treasury.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings - Highlight for warnings *Betrayal, mention of necrophilia, dead!Fred *
AN: I think it’s safe to say that this ficlet would not have taken anything like the shape it has, were it not for the lovelyskitty_kat’s fantastic Red Serpent and in particular the illustration to chapter one, showing Snape smoking.
Thanks to the wonderfulred_day_dawning for the beta! *hugs*
A sunny evening in London was a blinding affair, waves of light and heat reflecting off the white stone and glass of the office buildings. The glare pierced through Severus’ cheap supermarket sunglasses, lending a sharpness to the ever-present ache behind his eyes.
The pubs and cafes of the City were full of office workers making the most of the hours before curfew, and Severus had counted himself fortunate to get an outside table without having to use official persuasion. Drawing attention to himself was the last thing he wanted to do. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, the strong, dry smoke filling his lungs like a desert breeze. It was a constant source of surprise to him that even now, he could still find pleasure in simple things, like a smoke on a summer’s day.
“Got any more of those?”
Severus silently pushed the pack of Camels across the table to the boy who had wheeled himself up. He had watched him propelling himself across the road, his muscular arms providing a piquant contrast to the withered legs displayed in shorts. In deference to the heat, perhaps – or, as Severus suspected was more likely, the Fuck You attitude of their owner. George Weasley. Known intimate of the terrorist leader Harry Potter. And now, it appeared, turncoat.
“Light? Cheers, mate.” George took a deep drag of the cigarette, exhaled with pleasure, and grinned at Severus. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I’d never get this bloody thing in the door, and even if I did they’d never see me over the bar.”
Severus sneered. “Surely we have laws against drinking whilst in charge of a wheelchair? No? I shall have to speak to the First Lord about introducing some, then.”
George laughed. “Still the same old git.” He took another deep drag, then deliberately stubbed the cigarette out on one bare thigh.
“That would be a great deal more impressive had you any feeling in your legs,” Severus commented in conversational tone.
George appeared unabashed. “Hey, some blokes like this, you know. The whole dead from the waist down thing. Like fucking a corpse.”
Severus chose to answer his crudeness in kind. “So why not just fuck a corpse, then?”
“You’ve got laws against that.” George was silent a moment. “And not all corpses are really up for fucking. I mean, look at poor old Fred. You’d have needed a strong stomach to fuck him. S’pose it would have been possible,” he added thoughtfully. “You know, it was bloody ironic, really. There was me, to all intents and purposes wiped out below the belt, and there was him – top half blown to smithereens, but from the waist down, perfect. Like you could have done a quick welding job and had one for the price of two, but perfect, not fucked up like this.” He slapped at one unresponsive thigh in illustration.
Severus didn’t reply. He’d seen the pictures, and he knew it hadn’t been like that. Fred had been arming the explosive device when it went off prematurely, and he’d caught the full force of the blast. There hadn’t been a single piece of him bigger than Severus’ fist. They’d had to identify him via DNA.
George had been pulled out of the wreckage by his cohorts before the security forces had arrived, their panicked rescue doubtless contributing to his injuries.
“You have the information?” Severus asked curtly, unwilling to dwell on the images his memory had conjured.
George grinned. “Yeah. It’s in my pocket. Want to come and get it?”
“No.”
“Bloody hell, you’re no fun. Anyway, aren’t you curious?”
“About what?”
“Thought you’d want to know why I’m doing this. Betraying the cause my brother gave his life for, that sort of thing.”
Severus sighed. He might have known the boy would wish to justify himself. Short of causing a scene, there was little he could do. “Then tell me,” he said in resignation.
“I’m just sick of it all. All the killing, all our people dying. And all because of him. Like he’s something special. He’s nothing, you know? Not even that bright. If it wasn’t for who his mum and dad were, and the way he survived that attack the first time Riddle tried to take over, no one would even give a crap about him.”
He’s a figurehead, you foolish boy, Severus wanted to tell him. He doesn’t have to be anything, he merely has to be. “I can understand why you find that galling,” he said instead. “Now, the information?”
George nodded, and passed over a torn brown envelope. “It’s all there.”
…
Darkness fell slowly, a stifling blanket that did nothing to ease the oppressive heat of the day. Severus waited in the back room of a seedy pub under the railway arches. It was closed, of course, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside. Severus wondered idly how much damage Riddle’s paranoia was doing to the economy.
Lupin entered furtively, his breathing elevated. “Almost had a run-in with one of your bloody Gestapo. I’m not sure we wouldn’t be better off meeting by daylight, you know.”
Severus snorted. “Do you honestly suppose I would risk being seen with one of Potter’s generals? Your face, Lupin, is known to every policeman in the country.” He threw the envelope on the table in front of him. “Here. Your traitor delivered.”
Lupin froze. “Christ! I didn’t really believe… who was it?”
“George Weasley.”
“George? God, Severus, this is going to kill Molly. You’re sure?”
“For heaven’s sake, Lupin, of course I’m sure!” Severus snapped irritably. He leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, the bitter taste of it soothing to his jangled nerves. “Will you stay for a drink?” he asked abruptly.
Lupin laughed mirthlessly. “Think I need one after this. Christ, George bloody Weasley.”
He sat down opposite Severus, his face illuminated by the ghostly light of the streetlamp. Severus slid the bottle of vodka over to him, and Lupin took a hefty swig. “This stuff’ll kill you, you know. If the fags don’t get you first.”
Severus found his lips quirking. “I realised long ago, Lupin, that it would be utterly pointless for me to waste my time worrying about long-term health hazards.” He reclaimed the bottle and drank deeply, relishing the taste of Lupin’s lips upon it.
Lupin’s answering smile was sad. “You’ve lasted a damned long time already, haven’t you? I can’t imagine living like that – playing a part for twenty years whilst hiding your true allegiance. It must be hell on Earth. Do you ever think, sometimes, that maybe it’d be easier if Riddle found you out?”
Severus rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Are you going to sit there, Lupin, and tell me what a waking nightmare my life is, or are you going to come over here and do something to make it a little more bearable?”
Lupin’s lips upon Severus’ were dry, tasting faintly of mint. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant.
And after he came, he held Severus for a long while, and then left without speaking.
…
The summons arrived later that night, as Severus was preparing to wage his nightly battle with insomnia. His driver did not speak, merely nodded respectfully as Severus made his way towards the chambers of the First Lord of the Treasury.
Riddle was standing, gazing out of the window upon the silent streets of London. “Severus,” he said, the warmth in his voice holding, as always, a touch of malice. “How kind of you to come so promptly. I regret the necessity of keeping you from your bed, but I find I have a question for you that cannot wait for an answer.” He turned. His ruined face, legacy of one of the countless assassination attempts, was both familiar and alien to Severus. He well remembered the handsome, charming young man who had first seduced Severus, with so many others, into his service.
“Of course, my lord. I am at your disposal,” Severus told him, allowing no hint of disgust at the lipless mouth, the flattened features, to cross his face.
“Excellent! Then tell me this, Severus,” Riddle asked pleasantly. “Why did you betray me?”
A house of cards, Severus thought. His whole life, such as it was, had been a house of cards, and now Riddle had with one breath swept it to the ground. He struggled to speak. “M-my lord…”
“No matter,” Riddle told him, still in the same pleasant tone. “I doubt your pathetic rationalisation will interest me in any case. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “was it because of Lupin? I confess I should find that rather amusing.”
“Lupin? I don’t know what…”
Riddle clapped his hands. “Bring in our guest,” he ordered the guards that flanked the door.
Severus felt a sudden, desperate longing for a cigarette. He wondered if he would ever get a chance to smoke one again. When Lupin walked in the room, his hands free, looking anywhere but at Severus, the pain in his gut twisted sharply. “Why?” Severus asked, his voice hoarse.
Hazel eyes met his own briefly, then darted away again. “I’m sorry, Severus. Truly I am. I had no choice – they’ve got Dora, you see.”
You had a choice, Severus thought, as they dragged him away from Lupin, as he looked at those tired, guilty features for the last time.
You had a choice, and you made it.
And it wasn’t me.
Fin
Author:
drachenminaRating: PG15
Word Count: 1,500
Pairing(s)/character(s): Severus Snape/Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin/Tonks, George Weasley, Tom Riddle
Challenge: Dark Side prompt: George Weasley, Tom Riddle, pain
Summary: Non-magic AU. England is under military rule following a coup by Tom Riddle, self-styled First Lord of the Treasury.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings - Highlight for warnings *Betrayal, mention of necrophilia, dead!Fred *
AN: I think it’s safe to say that this ficlet would not have taken anything like the shape it has, were it not for the lovely
skitty_kat’s fantastic Red Serpent and in particular the illustration to chapter one, showing Snape smoking.Thanks to the wonderful
red_day_dawning for the beta! *hugs*A sunny evening in London was a blinding affair, waves of light and heat reflecting off the white stone and glass of the office buildings. The glare pierced through Severus’ cheap supermarket sunglasses, lending a sharpness to the ever-present ache behind his eyes.
The pubs and cafes of the City were full of office workers making the most of the hours before curfew, and Severus had counted himself fortunate to get an outside table without having to use official persuasion. Drawing attention to himself was the last thing he wanted to do. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, the strong, dry smoke filling his lungs like a desert breeze. It was a constant source of surprise to him that even now, he could still find pleasure in simple things, like a smoke on a summer’s day.
“Got any more of those?”
Severus silently pushed the pack of Camels across the table to the boy who had wheeled himself up. He had watched him propelling himself across the road, his muscular arms providing a piquant contrast to the withered legs displayed in shorts. In deference to the heat, perhaps – or, as Severus suspected was more likely, the Fuck You attitude of their owner. George Weasley. Known intimate of the terrorist leader Harry Potter. And now, it appeared, turncoat.
“Light? Cheers, mate.” George took a deep drag of the cigarette, exhaled with pleasure, and grinned at Severus. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I’d never get this bloody thing in the door, and even if I did they’d never see me over the bar.”
Severus sneered. “Surely we have laws against drinking whilst in charge of a wheelchair? No? I shall have to speak to the First Lord about introducing some, then.”
George laughed. “Still the same old git.” He took another deep drag, then deliberately stubbed the cigarette out on one bare thigh.
“That would be a great deal more impressive had you any feeling in your legs,” Severus commented in conversational tone.
George appeared unabashed. “Hey, some blokes like this, you know. The whole dead from the waist down thing. Like fucking a corpse.”
Severus chose to answer his crudeness in kind. “So why not just fuck a corpse, then?”
“You’ve got laws against that.” George was silent a moment. “And not all corpses are really up for fucking. I mean, look at poor old Fred. You’d have needed a strong stomach to fuck him. S’pose it would have been possible,” he added thoughtfully. “You know, it was bloody ironic, really. There was me, to all intents and purposes wiped out below the belt, and there was him – top half blown to smithereens, but from the waist down, perfect. Like you could have done a quick welding job and had one for the price of two, but perfect, not fucked up like this.” He slapped at one unresponsive thigh in illustration.
Severus didn’t reply. He’d seen the pictures, and he knew it hadn’t been like that. Fred had been arming the explosive device when it went off prematurely, and he’d caught the full force of the blast. There hadn’t been a single piece of him bigger than Severus’ fist. They’d had to identify him via DNA.
George had been pulled out of the wreckage by his cohorts before the security forces had arrived, their panicked rescue doubtless contributing to his injuries.
“You have the information?” Severus asked curtly, unwilling to dwell on the images his memory had conjured.
George grinned. “Yeah. It’s in my pocket. Want to come and get it?”
“No.”
“Bloody hell, you’re no fun. Anyway, aren’t you curious?”
“About what?”
“Thought you’d want to know why I’m doing this. Betraying the cause my brother gave his life for, that sort of thing.”
Severus sighed. He might have known the boy would wish to justify himself. Short of causing a scene, there was little he could do. “Then tell me,” he said in resignation.
“I’m just sick of it all. All the killing, all our people dying. And all because of him. Like he’s something special. He’s nothing, you know? Not even that bright. If it wasn’t for who his mum and dad were, and the way he survived that attack the first time Riddle tried to take over, no one would even give a crap about him.”
He’s a figurehead, you foolish boy, Severus wanted to tell him. He doesn’t have to be anything, he merely has to be. “I can understand why you find that galling,” he said instead. “Now, the information?”
George nodded, and passed over a torn brown envelope. “It’s all there.”
…
Darkness fell slowly, a stifling blanket that did nothing to ease the oppressive heat of the day. Severus waited in the back room of a seedy pub under the railway arches. It was closed, of course, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside. Severus wondered idly how much damage Riddle’s paranoia was doing to the economy.
Lupin entered furtively, his breathing elevated. “Almost had a run-in with one of your bloody Gestapo. I’m not sure we wouldn’t be better off meeting by daylight, you know.”
Severus snorted. “Do you honestly suppose I would risk being seen with one of Potter’s generals? Your face, Lupin, is known to every policeman in the country.” He threw the envelope on the table in front of him. “Here. Your traitor delivered.”
Lupin froze. “Christ! I didn’t really believe… who was it?”
“George Weasley.”
“George? God, Severus, this is going to kill Molly. You’re sure?”
“For heaven’s sake, Lupin, of course I’m sure!” Severus snapped irritably. He leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, the bitter taste of it soothing to his jangled nerves. “Will you stay for a drink?” he asked abruptly.
Lupin laughed mirthlessly. “Think I need one after this. Christ, George bloody Weasley.”
He sat down opposite Severus, his face illuminated by the ghostly light of the streetlamp. Severus slid the bottle of vodka over to him, and Lupin took a hefty swig. “This stuff’ll kill you, you know. If the fags don’t get you first.”
Severus found his lips quirking. “I realised long ago, Lupin, that it would be utterly pointless for me to waste my time worrying about long-term health hazards.” He reclaimed the bottle and drank deeply, relishing the taste of Lupin’s lips upon it.
Lupin’s answering smile was sad. “You’ve lasted a damned long time already, haven’t you? I can’t imagine living like that – playing a part for twenty years whilst hiding your true allegiance. It must be hell on Earth. Do you ever think, sometimes, that maybe it’d be easier if Riddle found you out?”
Severus rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Are you going to sit there, Lupin, and tell me what a waking nightmare my life is, or are you going to come over here and do something to make it a little more bearable?”
Lupin’s lips upon Severus’ were dry, tasting faintly of mint. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant.
And after he came, he held Severus for a long while, and then left without speaking.
…
The summons arrived later that night, as Severus was preparing to wage his nightly battle with insomnia. His driver did not speak, merely nodded respectfully as Severus made his way towards the chambers of the First Lord of the Treasury.
Riddle was standing, gazing out of the window upon the silent streets of London. “Severus,” he said, the warmth in his voice holding, as always, a touch of malice. “How kind of you to come so promptly. I regret the necessity of keeping you from your bed, but I find I have a question for you that cannot wait for an answer.” He turned. His ruined face, legacy of one of the countless assassination attempts, was both familiar and alien to Severus. He well remembered the handsome, charming young man who had first seduced Severus, with so many others, into his service.
“Of course, my lord. I am at your disposal,” Severus told him, allowing no hint of disgust at the lipless mouth, the flattened features, to cross his face.
“Excellent! Then tell me this, Severus,” Riddle asked pleasantly. “Why did you betray me?”
A house of cards, Severus thought. His whole life, such as it was, had been a house of cards, and now Riddle had with one breath swept it to the ground. He struggled to speak. “M-my lord…”
“No matter,” Riddle told him, still in the same pleasant tone. “I doubt your pathetic rationalisation will interest me in any case. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “was it because of Lupin? I confess I should find that rather amusing.”
“Lupin? I don’t know what…”
Riddle clapped his hands. “Bring in our guest,” he ordered the guards that flanked the door.
Severus felt a sudden, desperate longing for a cigarette. He wondered if he would ever get a chance to smoke one again. When Lupin walked in the room, his hands free, looking anywhere but at Severus, the pain in his gut twisted sharply. “Why?” Severus asked, his voice hoarse.
Hazel eyes met his own briefly, then darted away again. “I’m sorry, Severus. Truly I am. I had no choice – they’ve got Dora, you see.”
You had a choice, Severus thought, as they dragged him away from Lupin, as he looked at those tired, guilty features for the last time.
You had a choice, and you made it.
And it wasn’t me.
Fin
