Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures
Zyta

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters or the world that they are playing within- that honor goes to the genius JK Rowling. I’m just playing with her toys, but I promise to give them back with all their hair and clothes in tact. Maybe. I don’t make money from this, and I doubt anyone would pay anyway.

A/N: Slash. If you don’t like Male/Male pairings with sex involved then you shouldn’t read this. There’s also quite a bit crude language in here, mostly the F dash dash dash word. If you’re uncomfortable with adult language, move on to the monkey bars kiddies. This is the adult’s sandbox.

This story was an idea born from one question. What if Snape decided to ‘save his own neck’?


(¯`•._.•[Chapter III]•._.•´¯)
Hollow Eyes May See

There were no owls, no letters, no face in the mirror, and no head in the fireplace. Remus hadn’t slept, waiting for some communication. If he were truly honest with himself, he had known that there wouldn’t be. But hope and sense were two different entities, and in this case he clung to the one while ignoring the other. He hoped that Snape would take their intimacy into account. He hoped that whatever Snape had sought from him the night before wouldn’t be forgotten or ignored as temporary insanity. Yet, even Remus had to admit, it was unlikely Snape would feel any obligation to him.

There were questions, of course. But his were different from everyone else’s. And it was in that moment, when he listened to their anger of Snape’s sudden abandonment; he understood that Snape meant more to him than a simple fountain of information. They weren’t worried for Snape’s life, they spoke of him as a traitor to both sides. Dragging his already battered reputation further into the dirt. A turncoat, a coward, perhaps even a traitor- but no one mentioned a man who had simply been pushed across a line that everyone drew.

Remus found himself not as concerned with the problem of their missing spy. concconcern was for the missing person. Where would Snape be able to go that was safe from Voldemort? Karkoff had already been caught and killed. No one simply left Voldemort, and this would almost certainly seal his fate with the Dark Wizard. Which led him to believe that Snape was simply tired of it all. That he was finally giving up the game. And that fueled his worry more than anything else.

Or did Snape think he could successfully hide from Voldemort? Was there some trick he knew? Some place he would feel safe? And where would that be? More importantly, could he actually be the first to escape?

The only thing Remus knew that could hide a person from any location spell was the Fidelus Charm. The fact that Dumbledore still had him camped here, with members combing all over England and Scotland, made Remus suspicious that Dumbledore couldn’t locate Snape. He was certain it would have been the first thing the old Wizard would have tried.

Remus ran his hands through his hair as he ducked his head. He was tired, drained. Sick of listening to everyone around him as the Order marched through the house, in and out. The Order was officially on alert, Grimmauld Place was the base of operations for the search and a frantic attempt to work out a way to get someone else into Voldemort’s inner circle if Snape wasn’t found or was found dead. As he listened to them quietly, he couldn’t help but direct anger not only to them but onto himself as well. It seemed Snape was always being ridiculed, and he did nothing but ignore.

It struck Remus then. He had no friends left to worry about loosing. All that was left were ghosts and a traitor. He had lost them. He lifted his head, staring through the doorway of the parlor, across the hall, where Moody and Kingsley were talking in low voices. What was the point of trying to please them as well? Of sitting quietly and following directions while everyone around him searched for a man they had no personal interest in finding.

He wasn’t sure if he had a personal interest, but he definitely had more compassion for Snape then the rest of the Order. Whatever crimes he may have done, whatever bitter a man he may have become- he deserved to be treated as more than a necessity. He bled for them. Remus knew because he had cleaned that blood up himself.

He stood up, damning Dumbledore’s orders to sit still as he collected his cloak and threw it over his shoulders. He would not loose anyone else, even a former enemy, even a lover of convenience.

He heard Moody bark out a question as Remus swept down the hall towards the door in long purposeful strides. Where was he going? He didn’t know. “Out.” He answered simply, as he opened the door and stepped into the crisp autumn afternoon.

••.•´¯`•.•• ••.•´¯`•.••

The wind had picked up, clutching his robes so that they snapped mercilessly around his body. He clutched them closed with his hands, walking down Knockturn Alley. He was one of the few members of the Order, beside Mundungus, who could risk being seen. No one gave much thought to a werewolf prowling down the dark street. Many of the shops sold items targeting him. Reported ‘cures’ alongside everlasting cups of blood for Vampires.

It was the only place Remus could think to start his search. He had kept his eyes open for tall and lanky figures dressed completely in black. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the fashion here. Everyone wore black, and quite a bit of it.

He passed one witch, older than Albus Dumbledore with thin and scraggly white hair and doubled over, who had held out a tray of fingers for him. He had refused as politely as possible, trying not to wince as she smiled at him with a mouth missing all but a few teeth.

He bustled further down the steps, winding his way between the bodies pressed against walls or wandering aimlessly. He had made it nearly halfway down the street when he noticed a hanging wooden sign. There, chipped letters painted in bright red proclaimed it as the Seeing Skull. There was a crystal ball painted just below the letters, one that was morphed into a human skull. Remus shuddered at the image, before turning and looking into the shop. He had never placed much faith in Divination, it was an area of magic that was unreliable at best, but then he recalled the prophecy about Harry. He didn’t quite know where else to search for answers, and so he swallowed his skepticism and pulled the black door open.

The odor of decay that met his sensitive nose made him nearly gag and his eyes water, while a silver bell announced his arrival. Remus brought out his handkerchief, which was still tinged pink in places, and pressed it against his nose. The smell of Snape’s blood blocked the more unpleasant scents that wafted in the air, and the incense that stung his eyes.

It was a small room, with all manner of things hanging on the walls. The bodies of fresh animals- chickens and cats mostly, were suspended upside down along a long bit of twine. The walls were covered in red wallpaper that peeled at the top as it met the wooden ceiling. There were all manners of jars, filled with a collection of grotesque sights that was far more disturbing the Snape’s own office. It seemed that the eyes and tongues, hearts and livers, of creatures were suspended not in any sort of preserving solution but in blood. Herbs, including garlic, where strung across on lines of string like Christmas decorations, and he had to stoop low to pass under more than one of them.

In the corner, the fire was roaring in a slate fireplace. Upon the shelf sat crystal balls and, he grimaced, human skulls. Large gold and silver serving plates were propped up against the black stone, their surfaces shinning in the golden flicker. Before the fireplace was a small round table that looked as if it had seen better days, and two leather wing backed armchairs that were heavily cracked sat on either side of the table facing each other.

In one chair, a woman sat- her head bent down so low Remus thought she was sleeping. He could not see her face, only a hint of dark hair, since she wore a long black veil that flowed over her head and most of her body like a shroud. She wore a black dress under it, just as frayed and moth eaten. She looked like a morbid porcelain doll in a parody of a wedding dress.

He stood very still, uncertain if he should simply turn and leave (he greatly wanted to) or if he should wander over and try to wake the woman. The decision was taken from him when her head suddenly snapped up, like a string had pulled her to life with jerky movements, and the veiled face turned towards him. Remus’ body shuddered involuntarily as she spoke in a harsh and rasping voice. “Come here little wolf.”

Remus stared at her for several moments, before his feet seemed to move of their own accord. He found himself in front of the chair opposite of her, and he sat down slowly, gazing with uncertainty at the clouded face covered in heavy black lace. “I was wondering-“

She cut him off before he could finish. “Yes. Yes. You’ve lost something. Something important.” It was as if she had suddenly taken a goblet full of Pepper Up potion- she was a flurry of jerky movements. She stood, nearly flying into action as she turned and grasped the silver platter over the fireplace. He jumped a bit in his seat as she flung it onto the table, the plate spinning like a coin before resting with a clatter. She continued to speak as she moved about the room, plucking items from the strings and shelves as she went. “It’s flown away. Flying as fast as it could from the snake. You want to know where it is hiding.”

Remus’ mouth opened and closed several times before he simply sat silently as she came back with her arms loaded full. She dumped the pile of items beside the platter without care, and sat back down before him. He watched spidery hands, pale as Snape’s but with long nails curled like talons and painted black, they reached for one item after a next.

First was a bat, and he thought it was dead at first, before it began flapping tiredly with its leathery wings as she grasped its belly. She pulled out a knife, and he saw with gaping eyes as she slit its throat and tilted it over the platter, letting it’s blood drain into the silver dish.

Remus swallowed, sure that his Divination classes had never taught anything like this.

She tossed the bat over her shoulder, and a great flame exploded as it landed in the fireplace. She then pulled out a velvet pouch, spilling its contents into the platter. The silver platter hissed as if heated as several bones landed inside it. She then reached down beneath the table, and Remus’ lips curled as she lifted a skull, setting it down atop the blood and bones with another clang.

He had no time to pull back as her hand shot out and grasped the wrist of the hand holding the handkerchief to his face. In an iron grip, she wrenched his wrist so hard his shoulder felt as if it would pop out of place. He yelped, but she ignored his cry of pain instead shaking his hand until he let the handkerchief go. It floated like a feather atop the skull, covering the sockets for the eyes and the slits of its nose.

But that terror was nothing compared to the way his heart hammered when she lifted the knife again. Before he could pull his hand away, it slashed downwards across his palm, and he howled as the familiar sting of silver flared like a fire through his bones. She slammed the knife down, twisting his hand until the shaking appendage was held over the top of the covered skull, his blood steadily dripping over the top.

When it seemed she had enough, she let his hand go and he yanked it back against his chest- curling his other hand around it as he glared at the woman.

She ignored him, moving the small bones that sizzled around with one long nail. “The singing raven has flown back to its nest.” Remus forgot his pain and fear as she continuedspeaspeak through the veil. “The raven’s secret was passed on in shadow and whisper to the wolf as it slept.” There were more scratching sounds as she shifted the bones, now covered in the blood of the puddle it rested in.

Her curled hand rested atop the skull, and when she spoke the rasping voice sounded far away. “If the wolf does not find the raven, the snake will bite the wolf and then swallow the raven whole.”

Remus, hand still burning, looked down at the macabre sc As As if he could see what she was. “How do I find him?”

“Only in dreams will the nest be found, for it was in dreams the secret was whispered.” Was his answer.

Remus’ brow furrowed fiercely together as he tried to interpret that. “In dreams?”

“Yes.” She replied, drawing her hand away. Her head was swaying back and forth. “It sings only in dreams. It will not sing its secrets in the waking world. It does not want to sing any more.”

Remus found himself only more confused. He peered at her. “So, what should I do?”

“Dream little wolf.” She stated. Her hands flew into her skirts, searching through the pockets until she pulled out a vial filled with a violet potion. The seer passed it over to him, and he took it with his good hand. “Take this before sleeping, and you will remember what the loom creates.”

Remus pocketed the vial, and then pulled out the few galleons he had. Placing them beside the platter before muttering a thank you and standing. Before he could walk away, and get the hell out of the shop, he was stopped with a hand on his arm. He turned, looking down at the seer.

The hand not holding onto his arm lifted the veil, and Remus nearly screamed as he flung himself backwards and away. He landed hard on his ass, gasping before trying to crawl backwards as the seer stood and advanced. Her face, shaped like a cherub’s would have held an unearthly beauty- if it wasn’t for the two empty black holes that gazed at Remus unseeing where her eyes would have stared down at him. “You must convince the raven to return with you to the phoenix. If the raven will not, the wolf must stay and not leave, lest both be poisoned by the snake.”

Remus swallowed and turned over, racing on all fours towards the door before he managed to push himself up. He ran his way to the knob, twisting it hard and flinging the door open before flying out into the alley- knocking over another Wizard. He ignored the curse from the man as he turned, breathing heavily, and watched the black door slipping shut. Waiting to see if it would open again and reveal the seer with no eyes.

The door did not open, and he drew in a deep breath before straightening up. As he shuddered, trying to forget the empty eye sockets that had stared him in the face, he tried to focus instead on what she had said. He glanced down at wound still stinging, the cut was deep- not alarmingly so- and was in a straight line from his thumb slanting to his pinky. He had reached for his handkerchief, before remembering it waill ill inside, and instead took out his wand. He walked quickly towards Diagon Alley, pausing to pick up a rock and transfigure it into a strip of white cloth that he was able to wrap around the weeping wound in his palm.

As he left the shadow of the alley, he wondered briefly how he was supposed to dream the answer.

••.•´¯`•.•• ••.•´¯`•.••

A/N 2: The seer was fashioned from two witches. The one in Sleepy Hollow that tells Ichabod Crane where the Headless Horsemen hides, and the one in Robin Hood who advises the Sheriff of Nottingham. Both were creepy enough to inspire this character. And in case you were wondering why she didn’t have eyes, well if she’s a Dark Arts user, then it seemed to me that removing your own eyes to get clearer visions would be something a desperate enough Seer would do. Plus, it just adds to the scariness.