Life in an Alien Land 2: The Werewolf Chronicles

Thanks to Jilliane for going over this chapter and alerting me to my rampant over commafication. Also thanks to her for asking the important questions so that I can make my point better.


Chapter 12: Truth and Consequences

I have reached many turning points in my life. There was the turning point where I met Lily and learned to dream of a cleaner world where mothers and fathers did not row every night over money and the consumption of alcohol. There was the turning point when I entered Slytherin, dashing all hopes of being with Lily in an easy way during the school year. Hogwarts was ever a hotbed of political machinations, and I entered the fray with little knowledge and my two brass bollocks hanging between my spindly legs. Then there was the first time I caught Lucius’ eye. I still do not know if he recognised the power in me, or thought to use my dark and twisted looks as a foil for his angelic features. Lucius’ patronage meant a great deal to my homely self as I basked in his largesse at the time. I only learned later what his friendship would entail.

My next turning point was that fateful day, engineered by the self-proclaimed Marauders. I played right into their masterful setup. In my defence, I had just finished the last of my NEWTs and was rather stressed, but my words, more than any other sigil I bore at the time, marked me as one destined to serve the Dark Lord. It was not a week later that Lucius swept into the dorms and took me to my first meeting with Lord Voldemort, who would later become The Dark Lord. What a fool I was in my angry, angst-ridden youth. What a fool I remained, until that night that destroyed my dreams forever.

I do have to admit that I often watched Lily navigating her daily life. What else was there to do for entertainment, especially when one was an apprentice to a less talented Master than oneself? I would watch her go about her business and take the memories with me to whatever hovel I rented at the time. I would spin all sorts of scenarios where James beat Lily and she ran to me for succour, or ones where I rose so far up in the ranks of my brothers in anarchy that I merely had to nod in her direction, and the Dark Lord gave her to me. James too. In my sweat-soaked fantasies, I dispatched him with the new curses I was learning from my new brethren, and then I alternately fucked or worshipped Lily, depending on my mood and how often I had wanked that day. I prayed for the day that I could possess her.

That moment never came.

Instead, I became the instrument of her death. It was another turning point in my short and failed life. The night she gave her life to save that foetid puke’s son, I wished I had been aborted as my dear mother had told me she wanted to do upon finding out she carried a Muggle’s bastard in her belly all those years ago. If I had had a time turner, I might have used it to convince dear old Mum to do just that. Her own turning point would have been my suicide, or rather my voiding. I would never have existed. At the time, I found it fitting somehow to let my fantasies run to my own annihilation. I bolstered my spirits with the idea that at least I could gaze on Lily from Hell; surely that would be the torture for my sins against her

Then when Potter’s son came to Hogwarts to dispel my hard won sense of security, I reached another milestone, one that ground me down for six years, and I finally marked it with my killing of Albus, on his orders, of course. Narcissa played her part with that damned vow, and so did her son with his attempt to reclaim his father’s name, but my feet had been on that path of death and destruction for so long, I did not note the event with even a grimace. Well, perhaps one. Albus had been kind to me throughout the years in his vague and manipulative way.

Now, as I watched the sleeping form of Ginevra next to me in our borrowed bed in Malfoy’s dungeons, I knew that I had reached my limit of second chances and twisting turns. As she slumbered under the heavy duvet, hair tousled by my hands and lips bruised from my kisses, I realised that my life was no longer my own to throw away or risk. This little slip of a girl, who I remembered with skinned knees, hard elbows and a magnificent defiance, was my last turning point, the terminus of my variegated destinies.

Somehow we fit each other, with our broken pasts and shattered hearts, as if the fates had woven our tapestries so that we would be able to understand each other as well as two people could, given our somewhat precarious situation. As I studied her, I realised once more that I was still vying for attention from a Potter’s woman. That it was the son’s conquest was only a little disturbing to me. That he was dead made me feel nothing more than relief. I was and always will be a vile, selfish man.

I slid down under the covers, revelling in the feel of her youthful flesh against my hardened hide. She stirred, rubbing her buttocks restively against my cock in her sleep and I slid into her cunt, the orifice still slick from our exertions of only an hour or so before. She sighed, turning her body to mine with a deft flip of her torso, draping her leg over my hip as I drove into her.

“Mmmm... Sev’rs...” she moaned. “Feels good.”

I silenced her with a driving rhythm, my bony hips digging into her with the intensity of my need. I wanted to conquer her, make her mine and drive out the ghosts of the Potters between us, as I shot my seed into her welcoming heat.

Once done she curled into my chest. “...need to sleep... m’tired, love.”

I slid my arms around her and closed my eyes, letting her steady, shallow breath calm me. I drifted and then slept with her last coherent word buoying my dreams. I had no nightmares that I could remember that night.

&*&*&

I woke to the sound of rampantly off-key singing coming from the down the hallway. I presumed that the voice belonged to Ginevra and I followed the noise to the bath, letting myself in with little fanfare. I had never been one who was able to share intimacy. I had always been solitary, alone and singular, less by choice than by circumstance. I watched her wash through the fog created by the hot water and the cool air of the dungeon. She spied me, and turned to my black and ascetically clad form, a goddess cast in copper and sunlight. She shared a heated look with me as she washed the residue of our night from between her legs. She was Venus rising and I was her foam, she was the rounded fertility goddesses of the Palaeolithic and I her Priapic counterpart, she was Epona and I was her moon-pale stallion. I felt myself rise as I carelessly stripped, leaving my monkish clothes like the skin of a silkie on the mist-covered floor.

I joined her and cried out as she welcomed me once more into her mysteries. The nascent wolf in me gave a contented yip and then was silent, watching as if from a distance and with a menacing approval. It was in that shower that I strove to rid myself of the old, slouching Severus with greying underwear and second or third hand clothes. I needed a new Severus for whole cloth.

I marked Ginevra as mine with each sure thrust and each kiss, and she did the same to me as we strove against the wall. Once we had exhausted our strength we slid on trembling legs down to the floor of the tub, both of us laughing shakily before we gave into each other, letting the waves of pleasure take us.

We were in a dangerous situation and we did not care as long as we fucked. Our world became earth and sky, yin and yang, cock and pussy. Nothing else existed outside those opposing forces.

Later, after we finally washed, we dressed each other between breathless kisses and roving hands. We made our way to the kitchenette. Lucius had stocked it with what he probably considered essentials. Ginevra pulled a face as she drew a tin of caviar and another of pate out of the cabinet. “You want this for breakfast?”

My stomach rumbled. “Is there wine?”

Ginevra giggled, a girlish sound that would have put me off her at any other time, but not now. “No, just this Muggle milk that’s radioactive.”

“Irradiated.” I corrected automatically. I took the box from her hand and sat it back in the fridge. I did not trust that milk. “No pumpkin juice?”

“Cider.” She drew an opaque bottle filled with brown liquid out of the depths of the machine reading the label closely. “Why do you suppose Malfoy has Muggle food stored down here?”

“War and shortages,” I answered without thought as I found a fresh loaf of hard, crusty bread. “Perhaps, he’s become fond of it... I don’t know. I hardly know him anymore.”

“He’s the one that gave me that book of Tom Riddle’s.” Ginevra said. “I always wondered why it was me he chose.”

I hissed, waiting for the burn of the Mark at the mention of my erstwhile owner’s name. It never came, and I thanked the moon and stars that the Dark Lord was not listening. I said, rather more sharply than I intended, “You must be careful with what you say around me, Ginevra. I still carry his Mark.”

She shrugged a gesture that I found irritating, and I snapped at her. “Have you suddenly gone mute, Miss Weasley?”

She shrugged again and I cast my narrowed gaze at her face. The minx was laughing at me. I strode to her in two quick steps and turned her to face me, roughly jerking her chin up with my potion-stained fingers. “Do you find me amusing?”

She gave a choked sound and pushed away from me. “Not right now.”

She strode from the room in high dudgeon, if I could tell from the set of her shoulders and her stiff gait. I followed her to the bedroom, my anger rising with each step she took away from me. “But other times you do? Is it laughable that you’ve fucked me?”

“Merlin, you’re an idiot,” she spat. “Laughable? Since you don’t remember, last night I was the one who wanted to fuck. You acted like a virgin on his wedding night, you... you git.”

“Ah, yes, the Greasy Git.” I flung back at her. “I was ever surrounded by dunderheads and their blunt witticisms at my expense. I suppose Mr. Potter helped to form your opinion of me.”

She moved toward me, folding her arms around my waist. I stiffened even as I leaned into the contact. I was such an emotional schizophrenic. She stood on her toes and said, “Shut the hell up, Snape. Harry has nothing to do with your feelings, and you know it."

She kissed me firmly and with a little more tooth than was necessary. I tasted blood as she deepened the contact. After several breathless moments, she pulled away from me. "I think I love you, you great arse. Otherwise, I wouldn't give you a leg over. Not after all I've been through."

She shocked me into silence and I gaped at her, my mouth working but no sound uttering from my lips. In my entire life, I could count on one hand how many times a person, other than Lily, had admitted to feelings other than scorn or negativity for me. It was exactly once. Albus had said he was proud of me after I resumed my role as spy.

Once.

Now as I looked down into Miss Weasley's warm, brown eyes, I saw the truth of her words. The chit was, for lack of a better phrase, arse over end for me.

I pulled away from her, wanting to deny her statement, wanting to rail at her for her stupidity, and wanting to fuck her to insensibility so that she would never want to leave me. I did none of those things.

Ginevra drew me back to her, “You don’t have to say anything back. I know I’m not... Just come back and eat with me. I’m starving and you’re too thin.”

I allowed her to lead me from the room, feeling like a condemned man. I had not wanted entanglements, I told myself. I had wanted to exist until this horror was resolved one way or the other. I had knowingly walked into this emotional trap of my own making and now I was not only a paedophile, but also a bastard for not returning those tender feelings she exposed to me. I had denied that I loved her, I told myself, so that I could protect her.

But, the bald statement of her affection now lay between us, and I could no longer delude myself. Lily had been a childish fantasy. Ginevra, with all her scars, temper and Weasley bluntness, was who I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, however long that was. I would have to take precautions so that I did not infect her. I knew that at least a few days before the full moon and a few days after, the curse was active. I would abstain from her body for that time and damn the rest. I would have her if she would have me, as she said.

Ginevra began cutting the bread as I leaned on against the cabinet, watching her deft hands at work. I had always been fascinated by Lily's hands, so delicate, and still so strong as she worked magic. Ginevra's were much the same, yet somehow more elegant and sure.

She glanced up at me. "Are you just going to stand there grinning like an idiot, or are you going to help?"

I heard the waspish Weasley-matron tone in her voice, and though Molly had never been a favourite of mine, I had never scorned her as I had other members of the Order. Of all of them, she never looked down on me. She got my back up to be sure, but I never actively disliked her. Somehow, Ginevra's unconscious mimicry of her mother's tone did not put me off as it would if Molly had uttered the same words in a similar manner.

"Yes," I answered stupidly, wondering if the recent release of sperm had somehow affected my brain function. Ginevra laughed, the tinkling sound causing me to smile, even if the expression was rusty from disuse, as she handed me the tin of caviar to open.

After breakfast, Lucius returned, bringing with him the malodorous perfume of blood. Ginevra did not seem to notice the sharp, metallic odour, but I was more attuned to the scent because of the curse coursing through my veins. Lucius' hands were unsteady as he settled on the small settee opposite me. He placed his cane next to him on the seat, but it clattered down to the stone floor. Lucius jerked forward as if he had been shocked by that electrical device of Bruno's.

Ginevra, seated across from him, leaned to retrieve the object and placed it into his hands. It was then that she saw the dried blood encrusted under his fingernails and blackening his otherwise white sleeves. She looked to his face and then retreated to my side. I could feel her unease as she trembled slightly.

Lucius sat the cane next to him firmly and then covered his face with his palm. After a moment, he seemed to gather himself and he looked up, his gaze skittering from my own to Ginevra's and back again. "Cambridge has been taken, even if it was a Pyrrhic victory. Greyback has weakened his forces and has asked that I procure more recruits for him."

I waited, knowing that Lucius had more bad news to impart as he began picking at the settee's frayed upholstery. "Your position is quite precarious, Severus."

I hummed in assent. Lucius had never been one to state the obvious. His mind was nearly as subtle as Albus' and almost as canny as my own. He made the statement to underscore my helplessness, no doubt. He sighed. "Borowiec's mate was killed this morning. She was crucified for making an attempt on Greyback's life. I ended her agony the only way I could."

I closed my eyes against the strange and hollow pain in my chest at the mention of yet another former student's death. Lucius eased off the seat and traversed the room to the fireplace. "Miss Weasley, Borowiec has requested that you return and act as his new mate. You will not be expected to do more than is necessary to convince Greyback of your role in the second's life, but you will have to... You will have to be intimate with him on occasion.

"No." Ginevra's words rang out in the silence of the room. "I... I can't . I'm with... I think that... He wouldn't do that to me. He was kind to me."

"His rank has been threatened, and without a mate he will lose much of the support he has gained in the past months." Lucius replied. He cast an uneasy glance at me, his grey eyes storm-grey as he added, "He said that you had been intimate with him before, and that you had no objection to his advances at the time."

I heard a dull roar and nothing more as Ginevra flushed and then paled. I stood, my gait strangely stiff, my muscles suddenly sore. I had deluded myself once again, thinking that a woman could feel more than mild contempt for me. I strode to her, my fists clenched, my heart shattered. Lucius had played his part well, if his intention was to torture me by giving me the gift of Miss Weasley’s body and then taking it away. My fury mounted at my own weakness and at her for playing me false with the werewolf.

I spat as I leaned over her, "Miss Weasley, by all means, resume your physical relationship with the wolf. Certainly, I don't have any objections. You are a whore, after all."

I strode from the room, the dull roar becoming a cascading torrent as I slammed the door to what had been our place of bonding only hours before. I found myself in front of the mirror in the bath and I began laughing as I saw myself after such a long hiatus from my own scrutiny. I was still ugly, pitiable, and poor. I felt myself slip once again into my role of Snivellus Snape, the little bastard with greying underpants and greasy hair. Once more a ginger-haired woman had played me, and once more I would be left for a stronger, more handsome specimen.

It seemed I would never learn.



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