Lights Out
Summary: 'The last twist of the knife.' 800 words. Snape/Lupin if you squint, gen if you don't. PG-13.
Lights Out
'How do you feel?' Snape's voice seems controlled but Remus can hear the anxiety underneath.
'Fine.' He's not sure what the right answer is. 'I feel - fine?'
The dark eyes hold his for a moment, then Remus blinks. Snape looks away at once. 'Sixteen minutes.' He glares at the jewelled hourglass on the desk.
'Maybe it's different,' Remus offers, 'with my metabolism.'
'That is precisely the point.'
'Yes.' He searches for something to say. 'Sorry.'
An impatient shrug. Snape's quill scratches on the parchment. Remus wonders if the hourglass is working properly. He stretches a hand towards it.
Snape's hand chops down, knocking his forearm away. 'Don't make me put you in restraints, Lupin.'
'Severus.'
'What?'
'I can't feel my feet.'
--
'Repeat that.'
We could do with a Quick Quotes Quill, Remus thinks idly. He twists his wrists against the restraints and tries again.
'Very cold. As if I'd been dipped in ice. Then nothing. I can't feel anything at all.'
Snape sucks in his breath. 'Ah. Does it hurt?'
'No.' Remus leans forward, as far as he can. 'I can still see them.'
'Can you feel this?' Snape drops down beside him and scrapes the quill along Remus' shin.
'No.'
'And it's up to - here?' A sharp jab. 'Mid calf.'
'No.' Somehow his voice remains calm. 'Above my knees.'
--
Thirty-four minutes. The tickle at the back of his throat is driving him crazy. 'How about a cup of tea?'
Snape doesn't look up from his notes. 'No.'
'Water?' No answer. 'Surely that won't affect the results.'
'There might be some dilution. I hardly think you would want to draw this out, Lupin.'
'Don't you?'
Snape turns his head away.
--
'This potion.'
'Yes.'
He doesn't try to soften the blow. 'Not one of your better ideas.'
Snape's mouth falls open, just a fraction. He brings up his hand and wipes the back of it slowly across his lips - almost, Remus thinks, as if I had hit him. But when Snape speaks again his voice is smooth.
'One of our allies brought the recipe to us from Albania. The Dark Lord thought the idea amusing. He suggested this testing regime.'
'Not yours.'
'If I had developed it, Lupin, it wouldn't need testing.'
'Oh, I don't know.' Remus rolls his tongue around inside his mouth, searching for aftertaste. Oily, sour, the memory of lemons. 'You could have put more sugar in.'
'You always did have a disgustingly sweet tooth.' Snape's words are muffled. He's on his knees beside the chair, drawing the point of a knife across Remus' exposed belly. Beads of blood ooze out behind the blade, never enough to drip.
Remus nods. 'Very nicely done. But then, you were always good with your hands.'
Snape flinches. If the gesture jolts the knife, Remus doesn't feel it. 'I don't want to hurt you,' Snape says at last.
'I'm not faking this, Severus. I'm really not.' He doesn't quite manage to keep the irritation out of his voice.
'I know.' Snape's eyes lift slightly, towards the two Death Eaters at the far end of the room. 'I have to be sure.'
--
At fifty-seven minutes, Remus loses the use of his hands. He stares down at them in wonder. No more writing. No more turning the pages of his books, feeling the soft warmth of old parchment between his fingers. No more wand work. No more music. No more -
No more.
He barely manages to control the panic.
--
'My neck.'
He hears the croak in his voice as his vocal chords obey their last commands. I can't speak, he realises, I can't speak. All the things I wanted to say. He tries to jerk his body in its chair, to hurl himself against the ground, but his body has become both deaf and mute.
And then Snape's hands are on his face, twisting it to look up. 'I'm here,' Snape breathes, and Remus feels the warm air on his cheek like a caress.
Damn you, he thinks. Damn you. Snape recoils, but he doesn't let go. They stare into each other's eyes. Remus isn't sure he can look away. Isn't sure he would.
'Tell me,' Snape says.
So little time left. Remus tries. So cold. Like darkness. Like drowning.
'No pain?'
No. And because he can't resist: You really should have added more sugar.
An unexpected warmth in the eyes regarding his. 'I'll remember.'
He can't feel Snape's hands. He can't - I can't see you.
'I'm still here.'
Remember me.
If there is an answer, Remus never hears it. There's a throbbing in his ears that drowns out everything and he's so cold, so terribly cold. He wonders what he would see if he could read Snape's mind, wonders how much the Dark Lord must know to throw the two of them together like this. It must be killing Severus, he thinks. It's certainly killing me -
And then the last light goes out.
--
Note: written for hp_darkfest and posted there on 10 November 2008. Thanks to kennahijja for her painstaking and precise beta work. Twice.
Lights Out
'How do you feel?' Snape's voice seems controlled but Remus can hear the anxiety underneath.
'Fine.' He's not sure what the right answer is. 'I feel - fine?'
The dark eyes hold his for a moment, then Remus blinks. Snape looks away at once. 'Sixteen minutes.' He glares at the jewelled hourglass on the desk.
'Maybe it's different,' Remus offers, 'with my metabolism.'
'That is precisely the point.'
'Yes.' He searches for something to say. 'Sorry.'
An impatient shrug. Snape's quill scratches on the parchment. Remus wonders if the hourglass is working properly. He stretches a hand towards it.
Snape's hand chops down, knocking his forearm away. 'Don't make me put you in restraints, Lupin.'
'Severus.'
'What?'
'I can't feel my feet.'
--
'Repeat that.'
We could do with a Quick Quotes Quill, Remus thinks idly. He twists his wrists against the restraints and tries again.
'Very cold. As if I'd been dipped in ice. Then nothing. I can't feel anything at all.'
Snape sucks in his breath. 'Ah. Does it hurt?'
'No.' Remus leans forward, as far as he can. 'I can still see them.'
'Can you feel this?' Snape drops down beside him and scrapes the quill along Remus' shin.
'No.'
'And it's up to - here?' A sharp jab. 'Mid calf.'
'No.' Somehow his voice remains calm. 'Above my knees.'
--
Thirty-four minutes. The tickle at the back of his throat is driving him crazy. 'How about a cup of tea?'
Snape doesn't look up from his notes. 'No.'
'Water?' No answer. 'Surely that won't affect the results.'
'There might be some dilution. I hardly think you would want to draw this out, Lupin.'
'Don't you?'
Snape turns his head away.
--
'This potion.'
'Yes.'
He doesn't try to soften the blow. 'Not one of your better ideas.'
Snape's mouth falls open, just a fraction. He brings up his hand and wipes the back of it slowly across his lips - almost, Remus thinks, as if I had hit him. But when Snape speaks again his voice is smooth.
'One of our allies brought the recipe to us from Albania. The Dark Lord thought the idea amusing. He suggested this testing regime.'
'Not yours.'
'If I had developed it, Lupin, it wouldn't need testing.'
'Oh, I don't know.' Remus rolls his tongue around inside his mouth, searching for aftertaste. Oily, sour, the memory of lemons. 'You could have put more sugar in.'
'You always did have a disgustingly sweet tooth.' Snape's words are muffled. He's on his knees beside the chair, drawing the point of a knife across Remus' exposed belly. Beads of blood ooze out behind the blade, never enough to drip.
Remus nods. 'Very nicely done. But then, you were always good with your hands.'
Snape flinches. If the gesture jolts the knife, Remus doesn't feel it. 'I don't want to hurt you,' Snape says at last.
'I'm not faking this, Severus. I'm really not.' He doesn't quite manage to keep the irritation out of his voice.
'I know.' Snape's eyes lift slightly, towards the two Death Eaters at the far end of the room. 'I have to be sure.'
--
At fifty-seven minutes, Remus loses the use of his hands. He stares down at them in wonder. No more writing. No more turning the pages of his books, feeling the soft warmth of old parchment between his fingers. No more wand work. No more music. No more -
No more.
He barely manages to control the panic.
--
'My neck.'
He hears the croak in his voice as his vocal chords obey their last commands. I can't speak, he realises, I can't speak. All the things I wanted to say. He tries to jerk his body in its chair, to hurl himself against the ground, but his body has become both deaf and mute.
And then Snape's hands are on his face, twisting it to look up. 'I'm here,' Snape breathes, and Remus feels the warm air on his cheek like a caress.
Damn you, he thinks. Damn you. Snape recoils, but he doesn't let go. They stare into each other's eyes. Remus isn't sure he can look away. Isn't sure he would.
'Tell me,' Snape says.
So little time left. Remus tries. So cold. Like darkness. Like drowning.
'No pain?'
No. And because he can't resist: You really should have added more sugar.
An unexpected warmth in the eyes regarding his. 'I'll remember.'
He can't feel Snape's hands. He can't - I can't see you.
'I'm still here.'
Remember me.
If there is an answer, Remus never hears it. There's a throbbing in his ears that drowns out everything and he's so cold, so terribly cold. He wonders what he would see if he could read Snape's mind, wonders how much the Dark Lord must know to throw the two of them together like this. It must be killing Severus, he thinks. It's certainly killing me -
And then the last light goes out.
--
Note: written for hp_darkfest and posted there on 10 November 2008. Thanks to kennahijja for her painstaking and precise beta work. Twice.