For all Joy wants Eternity

For all Joy wants Eternity

Chapter Five


The thick, stale air ripped his throat open and inflamed
his lungs with each of his frantic attempts to inhale.
After a few breaths, he didn't know anymore what was
worse: The stinging lack of air that made his chest
collapse, tearing at his ribs and pectoral muscles with
an irresistible force, or the liquid fire inside of him fuelled
with every desperate gasp for air, that made him feel
like he was swallowing petrol, constantly feeding the
voracious flames that greedily burned their way through
his trunk. His mouth was filled with the smoky taste of
fear, and the air that slapped his face while he hurried
towards the end of the tunnel became more of a
tenacious, viscous mass with each of his steps. He
could feel the subterranean walls slowly but constantly
closing in on all sides, and he knew he would never be
able to make it to the tunnel's exit beneath the Whomping
Willow before he would get smashed by tons of stone and
mud and wood that already seemed to reach for him with
rotten, disintegrating fingers from above, from below and
from both sides. Promising to never let him escape, to
bury him down here, to make him a part of the darkness that
was everywhere.

And then, bright chaos erupted inside him.

Claw-like arms shot through his chest and wound towards
his heart and brain with the speed of a lightning flash.
Or had they been talons of chilling ice? Was his head
melting or was his brain freezing from a biting cold he
had never experienced before? Had his heart caught
fire or had it just stopped beating beneath a glacier of
solid, translucent ice? What had been the reason for
that bright flash that was lighting all of his insides
right now, had it been red, hot flames or crystal-clear,
freezing cold? He couldn't call it pain, and it would
have been a lie to say it hurt, he couldn't tell if his
heart was squeezed to a twitching ball the sof aof a
Snitch or if it was stretched until he was sure it had
to explode like an overstrained balloon...

...what in the name of Merlin's cauldron was wrong with
him?

Severus Snape felt the bones of his legs vanish, and
only a very quick reflex allowed him to intercept the
fall with his hands. Immediately, the air of the tunnel,
heavy with the spy's bristling fear, crushed down on
his back and forced him further towards the moist, earthy
ground, leaving him no room for anything else but
instinctive actions. Digging his fingers into the mud,
Severus crawled forward on elbows and knees, slowly
making his way towards the Whomping Willow. All he
knew was that he had to make it there, that there was
nothing more important, that it was vital to reach the
end of the tunnel. He tried to concentrate, tried to focus
all of the pathetic remnants of his intellectual abilities
on that one goal as he moved on. Meter by meter, the
opening that simply had to be the way out of this hell
came closer, and Severus glued his burning eyes on
the spot he knew he had to reach, dragging his failing
body forward with steely determination.

When his wand-hand had passed the chink beneath the
violent tree and frantically searched for the knob that would
grant him safe exit, all that kept the Slytherin conscious
was the knowledge that he was almost there. As a
drowning man could see the promising, sneering rays of
the sun flash through the surface of the deadly waters, the
air outside teased Severus with its freshness. He could
almost see the stars, feel the cool breeze caressing the
burning skin of his sweaty face, the taste of peace and
shelter the castle promised already danced on his lips
and tongue and the smell of his quarters, interwoven
with the scent of herbs, cold ashes and candles was
close, so very close...

His fingers found the spot on the Willow's roots.

With a hoarse moan that vibrated with exertion, despair
and relief, Severus pulled his limp body through the
narrow opening. All he was able to do was to crawl far
enough to be out of reach when the temporarily tamed
tree awoke again, and then his body, every nerve
screaming with utter exhaustion, finally refused any
further cooperation and broke down. Having bravely
carried the Slytherin that far, it now collapsed onto the
grass, which was already wet with dew, for good.

Lying on his back and panting hard, Severus let his weary
gaze dive into the depths of the starry night-sky above
him. Slowly, the boiling cold let go of his chest, and
the chilling heat inside his skull ebbed away. With every eatheath, he could feel the dense wall of bright haze lifting
from his consciousness, giving spirspirits the space they
needed to be able to return. It was an indescribable
perception to sense how he slowly, gradually slipped free
of the terrors of the past minutes, until it was no one but
he himself who rested on the ground between castle and
Whomping Willow. Shivering. Torn. Totally overwrought.
Wounded by another bitter experience.

Severus reached his quarters about an hour later. He
didn't even care about putting any wards up after he
had entered his rooms, he didn't care to undress or to
let Albus know about his return. He refused to waste
any thought on the possible reasons for what had
happened to him on his way from the Shrieking Shack
back to the castle, and he banished the frightening
suspicions that lingered at the edges of his awareness
where they circled this appalling physical and mental
experience he had just escaped and banished them to
the darkest corners of his mind. His brain yearned to
forget, his eyes begged to be closed, and the Slytherin
hadn't even completely sunk down into the armchair in
front of the now cold fireplace, before he was fast
asleep.


----------------------------------------------------------


Some unnerving, annoyingly know-it-all little voice
told him that *this* was not the place to be, and that
the decision he had made half an hour ago was not the
right thing to do. He couldn't remember how many
times he had already angrily cut short this other part
of his mind that wanted him to turn and take care of his
own business...and in the beginning, it had almost been
successful in convincing him. But not now, not anymore.
Even though he didn't know exactly why, the unerring
and unbelievably powerful feeling that this *was* his
business had grown stronger and stronger, the longer
he had thought about what to do.

And this was the reason why Remus Lupin now stood in
front of the door to Severus Snape's quarters, hand
already raised to knock for several seconds. Ignoring
the doubts in the back of his head in the glorious
certainty of right action, and taking a deep breath, he
let the knuckles of his fingers finally descend against
the dark wood.

For a few maddening, tantalizingly long moments,
nothing happened.

Just when Remus was about to announce his presence for
the second time, the door in front of him moved and
opened just enough to reveal the slender form of the
Slytherin, his face a cladding made of marble, his eyes
narrowing alarmingly fast to two gleaming black slits as
soon as he recognized his visitor.

"Now, what could it possibly be that grants me the
dubious blessing of your presence, Lupin?"

It was nothing but a sheer act of volition that kept
Remus from taking at least one step barom rom the door
immediately. He had almost forgotten how very *wrong*
it felt to confront his former school mate! The unfamiliar
energy that emanated from the spy cut into Remus's
awareness as a double-edged blade would, and the
almost physical pain that resulted felt as if that sharp
piece of steel had been twisted violently right after it had
entered his flesh. The werewolf was almost thankful for
the repudiation and sarcasm he was greeted with. His
mind still refused to connect the physical image he
received from the man in front of him with the mental
one his memory provided, and he clung to the familiar
threads of the spy's cynical rage that seemed to be all
that had been left of the Severus Snape he remembered from
only a year ago. For the second time within several hours,
Remus had now been hit by the painful confusion the
Slytherin's twisted aura evoked in him, and dark
forebodings began dancing through his mind and tightened
his throat. Oh, this would be so much more difficult than
he had thought...

"First of all, Severus, I wanted to ask how you're
feeling..."

"Aside from the fact that this is absolutely no concern
of yours, *Lupin*, I've been totally fine until some
moments ago, and I will be so once more as soon as you
leave again."

"...and second, I've found something you obviously lost
last night. I thought you might want to have it back."

With those words, Remus slowly reached out his left hand
toward the Slytherin. His hand, which held a blood-stained
mask, carved of dark wood.

The façade of stone and ice that was the face before him
splintered. The dimension of the agonized, deep
weariness, the total exhaustion, latent panic and staidness
that was etched into the Slytherin’s features
engraved themselves deeply into Remus Lupin's mind,
and what he saw for that split second before the spy
managed to retreat behind a blank wall of self-defence
once more, would never leave the werewolf's inner eye
again. Horrified bewilderment seized him, and it was all
he could do to not let the Death Eater’s mask slip from
his hand, which had started shaking slightly with terror
merely given his awareness of the profound woes that
must be torturing his former school mate.

The impregnable need to help, to comfort somehow made
Remus take one step forward.

"Merlin, Severus..." He tried, but he couldn't keep the
sympathetic undertone out of his voice, which he knew
that his counterpart wouldn't approve of that at all.
"Severus, what *happened* to you?"

With his black gaze having returned to its usual coldness,
the Slytherin held Remus's questioning eyes without
blinking even once.

"If I was you, Lupin, I wouldn't waste too much of my
chronically missing energy deliberating upon questions
like that. If you considered the matter carefully, even you
would see that I've just gotten over a quite demanding and
wearisome night, of which our little encounter in the
Shrieking Shack was a more than pathetic highlight.
So right now I need nothing more than to be left alone,
and I would greatly appreciate it if you would accept
that and go back to whatever place in this castle has
been assigned to you."

The Slytherin's glance wandered back to the mask
Remus still held out to him.

"Where did you find that?"

For some seconds, the werewolf searched the spy's face for
any evidence of the shocking state of mind he had witnessed
only moments ago. In vain.

"It was lying on the tunnel's floor, half-way between the
Shack and the exit to the castle." Remus lifted the mask
and as if he saw it for the first time, examined its
outlines and relief with a slightly tilted head. He noticed
the barely inclined eye-slits, the high brow, prominent
cheek-bones and the subtlety of the hand-carved
ornaments that hemmed the mask's margins. And while
he was still lost in his admiration for the beautiful
piece of craftsmanship he held in his hand, sudden
fragments of thought and foggy images flooded his mind;
all at once, he wondered how many people already had
beheld those skilful carvings, knowing that torture and
probably the end of their lives were waiting for them, how
many Unforgivable Curses had already been spoken
against the inside of this enchantingly fair piece of wood,
how many times Severus had looked down upon his
suffering victims, upon dead wizards and witches, and
up to the face of Voldemort through these almond-shaped
eye-slits, he wondered whose blood it was that covered
the surface in dry, dark cords...

Afraid to hurl the mask at the adjacent wall with all the
force his sudden rage and disgust had let him come
up with, Remus held it out to the spy once more,
desperately praying for Severus to finally take this
embodiment of death from his hand, which had started
to tremble again. Not with compassion anymore, but
instead with revulsion and horror.

"I'm afraid you’ll need it once more eventually, won't
you?"

The werewolf knew at once that his whisper must have
dripped with the execration and abhorrence he felt for
everything this mask represented - and for everyone who
wore it, as well. He could tell from the bitter smile that
accompanied the Slytherin's silent acceptance of his,
Remus's, profound disgust, from the spark of pain in the
black, knowing eyes, from the sardonic parody of
gentleness with which his rhetorical question was
answered.

"Eventually, yes."

Remus felt a hot wave of frustration welling up inside. The
urge to somehow bridge the abyss he had just torn open
between the two of them became overwhelmingly strong,
and he was just about to open his mouth, just about to
offer his honest and heartfelt apologies, when the
Slytherin reached out to finally claim his Death Eater’s
mask again.

For a very short moment, their fingers touched in the
process.


-------------------------------------------------------------


Severus closed his eyes on an agonized groan. He
immediately recognized the bright flash ripping through
him, clearly announcing another bout of last night's
horror. Instinctively, all of his body jerked back, and
his hand which had just reached forward retreated as if
he had touched a boiling cauldron, overflowing with the
most corrosive potion the wizarding world would ever
know. Through the swirling haze of fear that had taken
hold of him, he heard something hitting the ground, the
sound echoing through his head, tauntingly resounding
from the inner walls of his skull...

...and then it was suddenly over.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, the Slytherin slowly,
disbelievingly dared to open his eyes. He was still standing
in the door to his quarters, still able to think, to feel, to
breathe. With wild relief washing over him, his glance started
to wander, glided to the ground, took in the mask that was
laying there, moved up again, scanned the corridor leading
to the stairs, returned to the space in front of his rooms and
came to a halt at the face of the man standing before him.

One glance into the werewolf's eyes and Severus knew that
if he wanted to escape the concern and questions screaming
from them, he had to act quickly, and he had to act now.
With a hastily whispered "Accio", he summoned the mask
into the firm grip of his hand. Ignoring Lupin calling his name
and deliberately avoiding the arm that reached out for him,
he swiftly stepped back into his rooms, letting the door slam
shut behind him.



[A.N.: So, finally, this one goes out to the following wonderful reviewers ;o). Loads of thanks to all of you to leave your notes!

@margie: Glad you liked it so far! And if a suffering Severus is your cuppa, you
maybe want to stay with FaJwE…*winks*
@Blackletter: ‘Neat’? Did you really just say ‘neat’ *biggrin*?
But you’re most certainly right about the twice-marked-thing: It
won’t be good.at.all.
@ @_@: Wow, thanks a lot for those compliments *katzenhaiblushesfiercly*!!
And even though I’m writing much slower than I had thought, I promise that there *will* be more! I hope you’ll stick around ;o).
@ n snape: Hello again!! So here’s the up-date I had hoped to be able to post for Christmas already…sorry that didn’t work out! I hope that this and the following chappies will make up for that delay *sheepishgrin*. Great to
that you like it so much!

All right, that’s it. I hope everybody had a wonderful Christmas and will have a great start into the New Year!]