Life in an Alien Land 2: The Werewolf Chronicles

Thanks for all the comments. It seems this story has struck a chord with some, not a good one, but a chord nonetheless. Things will improve for Snape and Ginny. Take heart, all is not lost.

This chapter was beta'ed by Jilliane. Any mistakes that are left are my own.




Chapter 7: Bonfire Night

I began working in the kitchens from around four in the morning to around seven, when I washed up and rushed to Snape's room to help him with the potions that the odious wolf required for his recent push into the area surrounding Cambridge. I worked under the former Headmaster's unforgiving eye until it was time to serve the late meal for the returning troops. That occupation kept me until well after ten at night where I would stumble to bed. I felt as if I was running from job to job without rest.

Usually by the end of the day, I was too tired and too full of caffeine to sleep properly, which suited me all right. I didn't dream that way. By morning, after tossing like a storm all night, I was back to work. Endless activity had become my life, and exhaustion my companion.

Ron had recovered enough that he was sent on a work detail out of town, on a farm, I think. I don't know why, but Borowiec had become something of a protector to my family, and it pained him that Fred had been turned by one of the lesser wolves before the Czech could ensure his safety too. I wondered why he cared. Surely, Professor Lupin's descriptions of us couldn't have affected him that much.

Greyback had skipped two months of sessions with Snape. He had other victims on which to practice his sadism. The broken bodies of four little boys attested to that. After each murderous night, the Alpha hung them in the square, their rotting corpses a grim reminder of what awaited Snape if he did not fight Greyback's attentions in wolf form. I passed the bodies daily on various errands around the colony, but tried to see them only out of the corner of my eye.

Samhain saw a strange beggar's night party with the children of the Pack cavorting under the quarter moon, and the newly Turned joining in the merriment. I saw Fred dancing with Cheri. They both looked breathless and happy in that moment before the former Quidditch star was ushered back to the brothel to service the more senior werewolves. Fred was punished the next day by being staked out and whipped. Mum cried and I watched in grim anger. I was becoming as hard as a diamond in my new role of slave. My brother was left there all day and night, and was denied the services of Clearwater. I begged Snape for dittany, but he could not spare the healing herbs. Greyback had ordered an inventory just that morning.

Bonfire night brought more horrors, as Snape and several other unfortunates were brought out before the fires. Mum stifled a scream as we watched one group of merry makers throw a woman onto the fire. Her cries of agony were soon subsumed into the hissing of her cooking flesh. Mum stumbled against me, but I remained calm. What use was fretting over the horror of her death? It would not bring her back. Another person was thrown onto the fire, a fat Muggle who had been Turned a month before. He was known to raid the stores. His fat burned brightly when it caught afire.

Soon the only person left from the group was Snape. He looked strangely calm, almost relieved as the younger Pack members rushed him toward the fire, dragging his nude body over the worn cobbles. I saw Borowiec speaking to Greyback, his manner urgent and his expression dark. Greyback waved him off with a lazy gesture, laughing as the younger werewolves brought Snape close to the flames and then drew him back. My old professor never made a sound as the Pack acted; his expression remained hopeful. The third time they did their rushing dance, Snape's hair caught fire. Greyback laughingly doused it with Aguamenti before telling the celebrants to take the Traitor back to his cell. They all knew better than to express disappointment that their sport had been cut short.

After the celebration, I was accosted by several males but rebuffed them easily enough. Most of them were too drunk to act on their impulses, and wandered off to their cubbies, dens, and beds to sleep it off. The ones that weren't knew I was under the protection of Borowiec. I accompanied Mum to our cubby but was awake soon enough, shaking from a variation of the dream that always plagued me. I had been back at Hogwarts after the Final Battle, my hands bound by magic as they had been during the actual event, but this time my brothers were the ones shaming me. Snape stood behind them, being held back by Harry, his fists clenched, his teeth bared. I watched him in the nightmare as he changed before me. He was no longer the greasy git, but a man stirred by my pain. He continued to fight Harry's hold, on him and I awoke to his anguished cry. He screamed, "Ginny!"

I dressed as quietly as I could, wincing at the loud sound of the fabric as it rustled in the dark. Mum stirred and moaned but didn't wake. I opened the door biting my lip in concentration as I slid out into the hallway. I let my sight adjust to the thin witch light that illuminated the hall. I made my way to the stairs, the same ones I walked daily in my role as jailer. I just wanted to look on his face, to see him without the sympathetic glamour of my dream. I needed him to be the same as when I was young, not a broken thing to be used and discarded, but the snarky bastard with all his insecurities wrapped up tightly in a black cloak and buttoned-up suit. I needed him to rebuff me for my weakness.

I unlocked the door and let myself in. He had not bothered to turn down the lamp and I could see his angular form on the pallet. He didn't stir, but I knew from his breathing that he was not asleep. I crossed the room, leaving the door unlocked, a wild plan forming in my mind.

"Snape," I said as I drew near enough to him that my whisper could easily be heard. "Snape, I know you're not asleep."

He made no response and I drew closer. I raised my voice to an exasperated hiss, “Snape."

It was then that I saw his shoulders, hunched against the cold of the room, shaking. Once attuned to the motion, I became aware of the soft, sobbing quality of his breathing. I sank to my knees beside his pallet, trailing my fingers over the thin cover, not touching him. "Professor, is there anything I can do to help you?"

He recoiled from my not-touch, as if he were aware of my hand hovering over him. "Leave me, Miss Weasley."

"Are you ill?"

He shifted so that I could see his blistered cheek and singed hair. "No."

"Liar," I said without malice. "Let me take care of your burns. You do still have the Burn Paste we made yesterday, don't you?"

He huffed angrily, his lips thinning and nostrils flaring as he turned his beetle-black eyes to me. I could see the salty rime of tears drying on his cheeks. It moved me as no other suffering had done that night.

"I realise, Miss Weasley, that I no longer hold a position of authority over you, but I am ordering you to get out of my room. I shouldn't have to suffer your presence more than I do already. It's simply too cruel a punishment for me to endure. Even Greyback is not that inhumane,” Snape said with a good bit of snarking contempt in his tone.

I moved to the workbench, trying to contain my amusement at his words. Had he always been this funny, with his cutting little comments and stupid pride? I returned, still bemused by my discovery that my former Professor was amusing. I unscrewed the lid to the plastic jar and took a dollop of the cream out.

He blocked my questing fingers with his hand. "What part of my statement did you not understand? Should I use smaller words?"

"Oh, I understood it all," I said over the tickling sensation of laughter that threatened to overwhelm me. "I am just choosing to ignore it."

I slathered the cream on his face, at once sickened by the heat of the burn and soothed by the feel of the stubble on his jaw. It made him seem more human and approachable. "You are a daft prick if you think Molly Weasley's daughter can be stopped by mere words."

He made a choking sound and I withdrew my hand from his face. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, Miss Weasley," he answered, as he sat up, simultaneously pulling the cover up with him.

It slipped from his shoulder and I saw that he was at least bare-chested under. My eyes went to his neck, still bearing the purple scars of the bite that should have killed him. I stared for a moment, wondering if that is how a vampire bite would look. He moved again and another flash of skin caught my eye, lower down, as he exposed his knife edged shins, sparsely dusted with dark hair. His long feet were drawn under him and he shivered.

"You are sick. I knew it." I said, almost accusingly

The choking sound came again, and I peered closely at his face. He was laughing, a Snapeish laugh to be sure, with it being stifled and bitten back, but a laugh nonetheless. I relaxed against the wall, wiping the rest of the unguent on my loose pants. He scowled.

"It took us hours to brew that particular crème and you just wasted it," he snapped.

I spread my fingers before me watching them glisten with the oil of the ointment. "I suppose I did, but you didn't want it on you, and my trousers were there..."

"Dunderhead."

I giggled, the noise sounding strange in the groaning quiet of the night. "Wanker."

"You are becoming entirely too familiar, Miss Weasley." He sneered.

I laughed harder. "You are too uptight, Professor Snape."

"Imbecile." He said with a huff, drawing the cover up to his chin. "What brings you here?"

I shrugged, knowing the gesture would infuriate him. He had hated it when a student did that, and would take extra points off for their inability to communicate. "Just couldn't sleep."

He made a humming noise of agreement or knowledge but did not add more. I shifted, the sound of my rough clothing loud in the quiet of the room. He made to lie back down and I followed his movement with my eyes half-closed. I said, "Let's escape. Let's leave here and go to America or South Africa or India."

He turned back to me, his black gaze thick against my face. "No."

"Why not?" I almost wanted to stamp my foot in irritation at his calm acceptance of his torture. I flung myself away from him, standing with my hands in claws, as if to strike him. "Why do you have to be such a fucking martyr? Harry said you sacrificed your whole fucking life to make up for your sins, can't you just live?"

He had followed me in a flowing movement, his hands held out in a supplicating gesture. "Miss Weasley."

I hit the wall with my fist, a stupid thing to do since I wasn't trained in Muggle fighting. I felt the bones give and the flesh peel from my knuckles. It hurt. I did it again, slamming my fist with even greater fury against the wall, embedding chunks of plaster and paint into the wound, leaving my blood as a red testament to my anger. He stopped me, held me against his bare chest, his own breath coming in chuffs as I struggled against him while venting my fury. "Miss Weasley... Ginevra... Shh..."

He held me until I sagged into him, becoming pliable and soft under his stroking hands and silken voice. A feeling passed between us, or perhaps it was just through me. He clung to me as I did to him, as if he needed my touch to make him function. I had begun to trust him again, even after his traitorous portrayal my last year at Hogwarts, but this went beyond trust to a deeper understanding of him. He needed the soft contact of my body against his as much as I needed his angular form against mine. The contact went beyond sexual. We had both experienced enough of that grunting act to last a lifetime, I think.

Reluctantly I drew away from him, not wanting to cause him more pain by inducing a punishment by Greyback for his transgression of being human. He retreated, the pain in his eyes evident. "I am sorry, Miss Weasley. I forgot myself."

He retreated to the pallet and I followed, sitting next to him on the floor. I traced the area around his bare foot, not touching, never touching, but it was enough to let him know there was nothing to forgive. After some time, he asked,"When you first came to the Colony, why did you... attempt to perform fellatio on me?"

I had to think what he meant. Fellatio. It was a strange sounding word for polishing his knob, but with it being him, it was the perfect choice. It was precise, delicate, while still being the bald truth. I hung my head, too ashamed to speak. He let me have my time, but I knew his eyes were on me, weighing me with their naked assessment. I finally spoke, "I didn't know it was you."

He made a dry sounding noise in his throat, a bone-filled rattle of mirth. "I see."

"I didn't mean it like that, sir."

He laughed again, this time full of irony, as he said, "I think since you've had your mouth on my penis, we can do away with the social niceties, Ginevra."

"Yeah, right." Feeling my face heat at his words, I peeked at him through my shuttered lids. He was looking away from me as I observed him, his face as bland and smooth as I had ever seen it. He seemed young and old at the same time, more like me and less like Mum and Dad. "So, I can call you... S-severus?"

"Yes."

I asked, "Why don't you try to escape?"

He turned his left arm over, the Dark Mark on it an ugly blotch against his fine black hair and pale skin. "This keeps me here. He knows the movements of even the least of those who he marked. I thought I had escaped once. I learnt the hard way that I had not."

"Oh," I answered, feeling at once foolish and sorry for both of us. "It's a stupid idea anyway. Mum wouldn't last, Ron is unreachable, and Fred, well, he's one of them now."

"As will I be, Ginevra. Never forget that." He sighed. "Go back to bed, you look horrible."

"Thanks." I smiled at him. "You don't look so good yourself."

He grimaced and gave me that sardonic lift of his brow. "I never made claim to great beauty. You, however... never mind. Get some rest. I will need your help this morning. Greyback is making another push next week."

"Yes, sir," I said with some cheek.

He smirked as he drew the thin coverlet over his body once more. As I opened the door, he asked,”Miss Weasley, you never did answer my question, not really."

"I didn't." I said, pausing in the crossroads, so to speak. I could have lied to him. I could have said what I told every john that I had ever been with. I could have assured him that he had overpowered me with his manliness, but as he looked at me with his jewel dark eyes, I admitted, "I heard once that you can't rape the willing. I used to think that was funny. Now I understand it."

"Indeed." I heard him say as I closed the door and fled down the stairs, still inky black with night.

&*&*&

The next day started as usual, with me running as soon as my feet hit the floor. By the time I made it to Snape's room, I was shaking from exhaustion, my muscles ached, and I felt as if I couldn't move properly. I entered his cell and he gestured impatiently for me to close the door while he counted the stirring of his potion, his lips pursed. I leaned against the wall, unable to go any further, just watching him. For a moment, he reminded me of Mum cooking Christmas dinner, and then he reminded me of Harry on his broom, his expression was so content. I stifled a yawn behind my hand.

Once he was done and had decanted the brew into a plastic container, he peered over at me. "You need rest. Go to my pallet and sleep. I shall wake you when I need you."

I moved sluggishly, trying to comprehend what he was saying. He strode toward me in some impatience. He pulled me up by my arm, frog-marched me to the pallet and pushed me down. "Sleep. Do not stir from there until I call you."

I rolled over on my side, wondering at his sudden concern for my well-being. I had been tired before, and he had never made me nap as if I were an infant. He drew the coverlet over my shoulders and I closed my eyes.

I awoke with a start, not knowing where I was, or how I had gotten there. I looked over at Snape who dozed against the wall next to the pallet, his jaw slack and his Adam's apple prominent. It was late, well past time for me to leave. I jerked forward. I was in for it now. Tilda, the overseer in the kitchen, did not tolerate sloth or tardiness.

As I searched frantically for my sandals, gleaned from a charity bin in the church as the weather became colder, Snape, without opening his eyes, said, "Borowiec came. He has excused you from your duties tonight. Rest some more, and then we shall brew after you fetch something for us to eat."

I watched as he returned to his restful state, his face still raw, but healing. I laid my hand beside his on the floor, never touching but drawing comfort from the closeness. I slept again, my slumber undisturbed for the first time in years.

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