Dissolve Me(she makes the sound, the sound the sea makes)
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^^^
5:
Dissolve Me(she makes the sound, the sound the sea makes)
Remus heaves a breath, plopping himself onto the armchair that was becoming far too familiar. It had been a week now of the same routine-potions, salves, change bandages, repeat. Every night he stayed up until five in the morning, grabbed Sirius, and went to bed. His life was effectively put on pause for the former double agent, not that he had much of a life to get back too.
Rubbing a soft hand over his scarred face, Remus groans. He hadn’t slept well the night before, what with Sirius waking him(for the second time that week, including the seizure)to ask about how to apply the ointment. It was a dumb excuse for Sirius to have some company and he knew it, but he chose to play along. He never could deny him.
Now though, he was regretting it. The heavy weariness settling throughout his entire body, reminding him starkly that he was going to have to lock himself somewhere for the full moon in another week. Sirius would have to take over for the whole night, and he could only pray that he wouldn’t kill Severus, accidental or not, during his absence.
Speaking of…Remus looks at Severus. He hasn’t made much progress, the wounds that couldn’t be healed directly still constantly oozing blood although the skin around them had begun raising…a sure sign that his body was working on it.
Remus had already administered the potions necessary and painted his body with the salves, so now he just had three more hours of watching the injured man. Well, he planned on reading a book today, so that he wouldn’t become lost in the feeling of the wolf rearing its head and whining about wanting to protect his injured-no, not his, never his-patient. It was an unwelcome feeling, Remus muses, as he flips open a book written by some Wizarding author about different healing herbs.
Half an hour in, Remus shifts upon hearing a whimper. He glances at Severus, who’s brows are stitched together and his nose is scrunched up in a grimace of pain. Remus merely watches, knowing that there wasn’t much to be done about his nightmares…Sirius always turned to the bottles of Dreamless Sleep, but Remus knew it could be addictive and therefore chose not to apply it.
Although now he wishes he would, because Severus has begun thrashing. It isn’t urgent, merely a few limbs jerking and a soft gasp. The shivers that constantly wrack his form are still present, and if anything begin buzzing more violently-
Severus’ eyes fly open.
It takes a few minutes for Remus to respond, as he is stuck. Severus is still breathing heavily, eyes not moving from one spot on the wall as his body quivers madly, another whimper tearing through his throat and followed by a wrenched, odd sounding sob.
Remus’ body finally catches up with his brain, and he is by Severus’ side. He grasps his face with both hands cupping his jaw, forcing him to make eye contact.
“You're safe, Severus. I’ve got you, love-”
Severus moves his mouth as if to speak, but all that comes out is choked noise and a groan. He winces, then his eyes widen and his breaths pick up significantly. Remus feels the wolf practically clawing against his skin at the pitiful noises.
“Severus, Severus its okay-you're not…there anymore, you are safe now-”
Lily…?
Remus jolts. The name was hardly a whisper, like a thread sewn into his mind then dissolving in a wisp. It wasn’t his own voice that he would usually hear in his mind, nor the growls of wolf, but rather Severus’ own deep, sultry voice.
Remus feels his heart twist. Often times he had forgotten that Lily and Severus had been long time friends, but he’d figured she had become less important to Severus after they had that falling out and he became a Death Eater, but by the sound of it Severus was reliving his past, or perhaps just delirious.
“No, it’s Remus…Remus Lupin?”
Severus visibly cringes, tears pooling in his blown eyes.
No, I want Lily. Where is Lily?
Remus flinches at the intrusion-it’s like a brain freeze whenever the words string out in his head. “She isn’t here…it’s just me right now.”
Severus whimpers again, squeezing his eyes shut as tears begin slipping down his cheeks. His lip is wobbling, and another sob croaks out of him. Remus’ chest hurts, and he’d very much like to just curl up beside him on the bed and protect him from his own mind. Instead, he moves his hand to Severus’ hair. He jolts at the touch at first, staying rigid for a few minutes where Remus simply splays his fingers and waits for him to relax. He eventually does, tension melting from him with a breathless huff. Remus smiles, because even with his current state, he’s still oddly endearing.
When Severus is slack again, Remus begins running his fingers through his hair, which is admittedly greasy with sweat and oils from lack of a wash. Not his fault, since he’s bed bound, but it’s still there so Remus acknowledges it. Severus seems to calm down further with Remus’ ministrations, his breaths evening out and eyebrows smoothing. For that, Remus is glad.
Once he’s sure Severus is asleep, he moves back to the chair. He grimaces after casting a cleaning charm to get the oily feeling off of his hand, feeling a bit guilty about it. It isn’t his fault, it just…isn’t a nice sensation.
Remus glances morosely at Severus, sighing quietly. He wonders how long he’s going to be out of it. He rather misses his snark, which he knows from experience would continue whether he was mute or not. No, it might actually be worse now that he has lost one method of intimidation.
Remus smiles. He can hardly wait to see it. Anything is better than seeing the man beaten down, unable to string a coherent thought. Yes, he rather looks forward to being glared at as if he was the reason for each wrongdoing that has been inflicted upon him.
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When Dumbledore had first offered to take Draco to see Uncle Severus, he’d pointedly ignored the old bastard. He hadn’t wanted to see anyone at the moment, not even his blasted housemates. House Slytherin was currently in unrest with no substitute, the prefects largely taking over while any candidate was considered. The tension was palpable, and everyone was on edge…it was means for disaster, and Draco wanted no part in it.
He hadn’t received any letters from his father. Which was likely for the best-he had no doubt in his mind that his dear old father had some hand in the injuring of his Godfather. So Draco was feeling quite lonesome. He avoided everyone, not even having the heart to return the glares that Potter and his little crew casted his way. If Draco didn’t know any better, he’d think that Potter looked disappointed at his lack of response.
Regardless, Draco felt like the one thing he needed more than anything at the moment was to see Uncle Severus. He knew how close his mother and Severus were, and he knew that if it had been the other way around he would have died for her.
And so that is how he ended up here, side by side with Albus Dumbledore while standing at the edge of the apparation wards. He had his arm looped with the old wizard’s, and felt no small discomfort with the arrangement. Especially with what had happened just moments earlier…
“Now Draco, before we go, I must make you swear not to disclose the location of our destination. It is a safety precaution for both Severus and the other…inhabitants of the home.”
Draco swallowed, but nodded grimly. He knew enough about unbreakable vows to know he should really not be bonded in one…but he needed to see his Godfather. Badly.
So, he had taken Dumbledore’s wrinkly hand and agreed to everything he asked of him. When the glowing lines faded and Draco tugged his hand away to cradle it to his chest, he felt a bit sick. Was it right for Dumbledore to have done that?
He was pretty sure what Uncle Severus’ answer to that would be.
“Are you ready?” Dumbledore asks in a soft voice. Draco grits his teeth, avoiding his eyes, but nods.
With a pop, they are gone.
—
Wherever they are, Draco isn’t sure he likes it. It very much looks like a pureblood manor, tall and dark and all that lot.
Dumbledore leads him into the house, shrugging off his outer robe and hanging it onto a hook. Draco follows his lead, shedding his school robes in favor of bearing only his usual white dress shirt and black slacks. Dumbledore motions for him to follow him, and Draco follows without a word.
They enter what looks like the main room, and Draco’s eyes immediately fall onto the trembling pale form of his Godfather.
A small gasp escapes his mouth, devastation settling into his chest. These past few days, he’s refused any emotions. He refused to fall apart, he only ever did that with his mum or, well, the unconscious man who is wheezing before him. He crosses the room, sitting slowly in the armchair that is planted by his bedside, snatching his limp pale hand in his own.
Dumbledore leaves them alone quietly, and Draco is internally grateful.
Draco rubs his thumb over the bruised knuckles of Severus’ hand. He feels cold, too cold, and he’s constantly shivering.
With a trembling breath, Draco opens his mouth to speak, but the words are lost on him. His lips snap shut, and his chest and eyes burn.
Uncle Severus looks unwell, without a single doubt. His skin is a sickly yellowed shade, bruises surround his eyes and his jaw is swollen. It’s hardly a noticeable swell to anyone who doesn’t know the bitter man, but he has always been a culmination of sharp edges as long as Draco has known him-which has been his entire life.
Draco takes another shuddering breath, his grip tightening around Severus’ hand. “you…I’m…I don’t know what to say.” he finishes lamely, feeling entirely too uncomfortable about the tightness of his chest and the wetness in his eyes and the lump in his throat.
Draco’s life has been on pause since those accursed words had tumbled from Dumbledore’s mouth. But now, seeing the real life aftermath in front of his eyes, Draco knows that the careful, fragile foundation of numb indifference is cracking. He brings Uncle Severus’ hand to his cheek using both of his own hands, hugging it close and closing his eyes when the first sob wracks his form. He tries to be quiet, tries to keep it down, but it bubbles up his throat and tears free.
His mother is dead. His Godfather is dying. His father is to blame.
The world shrinks and shrinks until Draco feels as if he might be crushed by it, everything narrows down to this room-Severus’ hand in his, pressed against the bridge of his nose and between his eyes. Tears stream down his cheeks, an agonized cry choking from him.
Draco wants it all to stop.
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When Severus awoke, all he saw was a face. Scarred, with dirty blonde hair swaying just above his kind, hazel eyes.
The figure’s touch was gentle, cradling his face and telling him that everything would be alright.
Severus finds it hard to believe that.
Everything is swimming, his mind crashing into his sight, and the figure changes.
Bright green eyes, hair a flaming orange.
Lily…?
The voice starts talking, and Severus feels a profound disappointment at the deep tone. That is not Lily.
“No, it’s Remus…Remus Lupin?”
No, I want Lily. Where is Lily?
“She isn’t here…it’s just me right now.”
Sod it all. He doesn’t want Remus, why would he bloody want that?! He needs Lily. she will make it okay.
He feels a surge in his chest, and the tears begin. Severus wants Lily. she will make it okay. Only she can make this okay, any of it-
A hand is in his hair.
Yellowed, sharp nails raking across his scalp-
Severus’ breath hitches as he braces for the tug he knows is imminent.
One minute, two minutes, maybe more pass. The hand is not moving.
Severus relaxes, more out of confusion than anything. Why isn’t he pulling…?
The hand then begins moving. But it isn’t tugging, it is simply threading his hair through its fingers and running soft strokes as if he is being pet.
And Severus finds that he does not hate it.
In fact, the tenderness against his otherwise aching scalp makes Severus melt. It makes his ears tingle, and he feels a strong sense of content. He’d like to take that hand, pepper it with kisses in thanks.
He feels wholly warm and relaxed, so he allows himself to succumb to the darkness.
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—”Fenrir, would you mind?”
Greyback evidently does not mind, as he wraps one hand around Severus’ throat in a crushing grip and lifts him from the ground.
Severus chokes, hands instinctively clawing at the hand. His grip isn’t harsh enough, and he’s sure all he leaves is a bit of a tickle.
Voldemort sways over to Severus, peering at him from behind Fenrir.
“Remember Severus, all it will take…is a confession. We all know what you’ve done, there’s no use hiding any longer.”
For a moment, Severus considers it. He’s sure Voldemort would end him quickly, just a flash of green and boom, he’s free.
But he knows he won’t be doing that. He owes Albus an explanation, Narcissa an hour of tea, Minerva a read through of the horrendous writing of students. He owes Draco an outing, his Slytherins a few points and the Gryffindors a lot less, he owes Lucius a slap and Sirius a hex and Remus a wolfsbane and a slamming door.
None of that will matter eventually-he knows that no matter what happens, he’s not going to make it. Even if by some miracle he is rescued, he’s sure his injuries have become far too grievous for redemption. Maybe, but even then his mental has been shattered and that’s his finest asset.
Voldemort doesn’t bother gracing Severus with a follow up, simply motioning for Fenrir to begin. Severus is slammed into concrete, the back of his head sounding an audible crack. Greyback continues this assault three more times, before throwing him and stepping away for his transformation to begin. Severus closes his eyes tight…he knows that Voldemort has forced Fenrir to take the Wolfsbane all week, if only so that Severus stays alive for further torment. Even he knows Fenrir would be unable to contain himself if he took a single bite out of Severus’ flesh. As for the clawing, Severus knows that to be manageable…he’ll just be temperamental and insatiably hungry on full moons, but it’s leagues better than the real deal.
The cracking and twisting of bones is about as pleasant a noise as anyone can believe, and the werewolf is on him in no time at all. Fenrir slashes his claws across Severus’ chest, and he cries out-
…and he’s back to his mind. The bookshelves have taken more damage than he’d have liked, but there’s still a few sections left. Pointedly moving his eyes away from the debris, he finds himself in the romance row. It’s depressingly small, and Severus finds he likes it that way better.
He takes out Pride and Prejudice(Mr. Darcy. Need he really say more?)and flips open the book. He sits down on the floor with his legs crossed, turning the pages until he gets to a particularly enjoyable chapter, and settles down for the evening.
He briefly wonders if he’ll be passing out anytime soon. He can only hope.