Old Ghosts

"Where the hell -- bugger it all," Severus snapped as he stepped out of nowhere to someplace just as promising. It was absolutely freezing. A cruel wind whipped past, ruffling Severus's hair and making the fabric of his black robes flap like a bat in the breeze. Snarling, Severus pulled his cloak tighter, suppressing a shiver. Displaying his discomfort was weakness and Severus, baring his teeth in challenge to the wind, intended no part of it. He glanced up. Overhead the sky was pitch black and starless, the feeble light of the slivered moon blotted out by silvery-blue clouds that hunched heavily overhead. A storm was gathering; Severus could feel the pressure changing already, even as the brisk wind gave another wolf-like howl.

For all appearances, Severus had just emerged into a painting of a Gothic scene. He was standing on what looked to be a Scottish moor. He was none too pleased with this and scowled at the scenery. In the distance, lush green hills, shadowed by the clusters of clouds that hung in the sky, rolled smoothly, cutting between pockets of fog. Wisps of mist shifted, moving like desert sands. Severus could see a faint blue light within the mist, bobbing slowly, temptingly. It was not a night for Muggles to be out, he knew, not with that thing out there, luring hapless wanderers to their unpleasant demise.

In the distance a rustling sound could be heard. Severus frowned, then sniffed. The scent drawn into his nostrils was of salt water -- he was near the sea. The smell of death drifted in an undercurrent just below the powerful smell of the salt in the air. As a child, reading tales of pirates and wars, Severus had scoffed at the notion of something as abstract as death having a scent, but he had learned better as a Death Eater and now, as a spy, the smell was familiar, like the lingering perfume of an old lover or the stain of smoke embedded into linens long after the fire has been put out. Death had a scent all it's own; must, dust and decay, the smell of rotting leaves crunched underfoot, of low tide, of soil in a cemetery after a rain had fallen. Death had the coppery tang of spilt blood and tears, the smell of sweat infused with fear, of loss and panic and things once precious lost or put away. Severus breathed in the scent deeply; he had sworn allegiance to Dumbledore and worked against Voldemort now, but the old habits remained. Death was not a pleasant scent perhaps but it was familiar and filled Severus with a longing he did not quite recognise and which he was at a loss to explain.

Striding across the moor, his long legs cutting a path through the mist that very determinedly avoided the dancing blue light, Severus walked down to the sea. The pound of the water against the beach was rough, nothing like the calming flow of water in the daytime. This was not a swimming beach. Anyone who went out in that dark, choppy water would never make it back, irregardless of how good a swimmer they were. Severus could see sharp rocks angling up as the waves retreated, exposing dangerous points. It tempted him and saddened him all at once, though he was not exactly certain why.

"Finally," he hissed irritably a moment later as he stepped past a darkened lighthouse and saw a flash of light in the distance. It was green, not white -- the Killing Curse. Severus wondered what they had been summoned to do this time. No Ministry officials lived out here; he was pretty sure of that and he was very rarely incorrect. It was Muggle territory, the air devoid of the almost electric crackle that marked the area witches and wizards lived in. Severus could feel something, impressions perhaps, memories that marked the ground haunted, but there was no magic in the air.

A moment later Severus stood beside the remains of what had once been a cozy Muggle cottage. The front door, which was splashed with blood, was hanging open. It had been partially torn from its hinges. From beyond the door Severus could hear a woman screaming, though as the wind howled around him it stole the sound and Severus guessed anyone nearby would mistake the panicked cries as a trick of the wind.

Stepping inside, Severus surveyed the ruins of the home. Embers still burned feebly in the iron fire grate; a harsh, bone-chilling breeze cut through a window and whipped the smouldering ashes into a small whirlwind. The furniture had all been slashed and broken by what looked like Reducto curses.

The shriek came again, higher pitched this time, more desperate. Severus's ears pricked up at the sound and he followed it through the shambles of a little hallway and into the master bedroom.

"Ah, there you are Severus," commented Lucius Malfoy smoothly as he turned away from the macabre scene. The bedroom was destroyed. An ancient feather bed, likely an heirloom, had been slashed open. Feathers drifted from it, some sticking to the tacky blood which had pooled on the polished hardwood flood. The trail of blood led to a man, clearly dead, who was sprawled on the floor, his blue eyes shocked and his mouth open. Beside him lay a woman, bound, surrounded by four Death Eaters with looks of anticipation on their faces. Severus sneered at them hatefully, his shoulders drawn back, his jaw tight. He looked every bit the predator; the masked Death Eaters turned away reluctantly like beta wolves, unwilling to attack an alpha.

Lucius stepped over the deceased man and crossed the room, a twisted hint of a smile on his lips. Without a word he took Severus's arm and led him across the hall into a smaller bedroom. The walls of the room were painted pale pink and mercifully bore no splashes of blood. In one corner of the room was a small, child sized canopy bed made up with a bright yellow comforter. Nothing had been disturbed except for the window, which was shattered. Through the broken shards of glass hanging in the frame Severus could see the rain pelting down. The storm had begun.

A small sound, the escape of panicked breath, caught Severus's attention. He turned towards the shadowy corner of the bedroom, where MacNair was crouched, wand out, guarding a small child of perhaps six. The little girl stared up at Severus fearfully, terror evident in her wide, tear-filled blue eyes. She was dressed in fleecy white pyjamas and was plainly scared out of her wits. In one arm was a black stuffed thing, probably a bear. The other hand was being held by MacNair in a way that could by no stretch of the imagination be described as kindly.

Lucius sat down on the little bed and patted the place beside him, indicating that Severus should sit down as well. Stiffly, Severus lowered himself to the very edge of the bed before glaring at Lucius. The older gentleman was insufferable, as was that smirk on Lucius's lips.

"Now then, no need to be rude, Severus," Lucius said calmly, his eyes still on the Muggle child. "Say hello to our little guest." He turned to MacNair. "Bring her."

Rising from the ground MacNair smirked unpleasantly at Severus, who scowled hatefully. He hated MacNair, always had. As a Death Eater Severus had been certain the brazen cockiness MacNair displayed would be the death of them all; now, as a spy for the Order, it grated on his nerves to see anyone looking so pleased with themselves. Back at Hogwarts he would have deducted fifty points for sheer ugliness, but here, in the Muggle cottage with the thrumming of rain echoing in his ears, Severus contented himself with sneering back.

MacNair approached, dragging the frightened child, who struggled and tried to twist out of his grasp, whimpering softly, apparently too scared or too uncertain to scream. Severus looked down at her coldly, his eyes filled with a loathing he did not feel. The girl stared back, trembling and seeking some sort of acknowledgement or assistance. You're looking to the wrong person, little one, Severus thought, unable to avoid the uncustomary twinge of pity for the child. Muggle or not, she did not deserve what would happen to her. He glanced over at Lucius and immediately felt sick. Lucius was staring as though entranced, his silvery grey eyes alight with something that made Severus's stomach turn.

Reaching for the child, Lucius brought up one hand and lightly stroked her brown hair, which fell in tangles, framing a face so pale that Severus could see the faint blue of her veins beneath the skin. Instead of pulling away the girl stood still, shaking and clutching her stuffed bear, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open as if she was asleep. Severus guessed she was escaping into the last refuge she had, her mind. He was momentarily jealous of the depths of a child's imagination. The pleasant dinner with Lupin -- if spending time with the insufferable werewolf could be referred to as pleasant -- seemed years and years away, lifetimes ago.

Watching Lucius was disturbing for more then one reason. As much as Severus despised the man and whatever dark intentions glittered in his eyes, Severus knew he was just as bad, just as much a monster. Although the exploits of the Death Eaters now held no amusement for him he had once been an eager participant, revelling in murder and driven with blood lust. He would have been looking at the child with the same hunger, would, like Lucius, be searching for some momentary respite from the wrath that burned within. Now he was too changed to take comfort in the sacrifice of another, but he had not forgotten the past.

"Is something the matter, Severus?" inquired Lucius as he reached for Severus's hand and set it on the little girl's shoulder. Noting Severus's grimace, Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You look disturbed."

Severus sighed, looking much put upon. "Merely exhausted is all, Lucius, so may I ask why we are wasting time toying with small children? Are you telling me you do not get your fill of seducing youngsters when your son is home on summer holidays?"

His elegant face twisting into a look of contempt, Lucius glared. "What are you attempting to insinuate, Severus?"

"Nothing whatsoever," Severus remarked in a voice that clearly implied he had many things to insinuate. "Your private life is of no interest to me. But this," he pointed to the Muggle child and sneered. "This is not worth my time."

"Never were much for girls, were you, eh Snape?" joked MacNair, his rotted teeth exposed from behind his lips as he drew them back. Eyes twinkling with the pleasure of insulting Severus he leered. "Have you buggered so many boys at that school of yours that this no longer holds excitement for you?"

Eyes narrowing in deadly fashion, Severus stared back into MacNair's eyes with a hate so immense that it made the other man turn away. "I had no idea the topic interested you so," he said coldly, his voice low and frozen. "Is that the reason your sons no longer speak to you?"

"How dare you," MacNair snapped, wrinkling his nose. "I don't know nothing about -- whatever you're talking about. I don't know nothing about buggering."

"Is that so?" Severus continued, cold as ice, wishing he could drop the pretense of what passed for civility among Death Eaters. "So then you don't recall what happened between yourself and Voldemort? Do share it with us, MacNair, the rest of us have not had the honour of being raped by the Dark Lord himself. I still remember the way you screamed." He flashed a cruel smile MacNair's way, raising one dark eyebrow.

The words seemed to stun MacNair for a moment. The next moment he went bright red and reached for his wand, too late. Severus already had his wand out. He could not resist twirling it through his fingers with flair, his eyes sharp and murderous as a crow's as he regarded the other Death Eater.

"Enough," hissed Lucius, pushing the little girl down and pronouncing the killing curse in a casual, disinterested voice. The child fell soundlessly to the floor, her stuffed animal falling from her hand and rolling a little way from her, her blue eyes open but sightless.

Severus watched, his outward coldness masking his internal guilt. The stuffed animal had been a dog, not a bear, he noted. He rose stiffly from the bed, not wanting to invade the little girl's space any longer. "Do hurry, Lucius, before MacNair develops a taste for necrophilia."

Angry looking, his chin wobbling slightly, MacNair shot Severus a final hateful look and scuttled away, closely followed by Lucius, who glided through the wreckage of the home without so much as a look over his shoulder. "Return to Hogwarts," Lucius barked, sounding much less smooth. He was angry, but Severus knew from experience that it would not last. "I have no use for you any more tonight, nor does the Dark Lord."

The Death Eaters Disapparated in a swirl of black, leaving Severus alone in the doorway of the former cottage. Turning around, he could see the feet of the dead girl, clad in pink socks. Sighing, Severus rubbed his temples, trying to tell himself that provoking Lucius into a quick, painless murder had been the right choice. Merlin knows how the girl would have suffered otherwise, he thought, but it was no relief from the guilt that stabbed him.

"I had to, otherwise it would have been so much worse," Severus said, the mask of soullessness slipping away as he batted a strand of damp, dark hair from his eyes. "You have no idea what Lucius is capable of." What I am capable of, his traitorous mind whispered. Severus nodded slowly. Hadn't he once loved the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of destruction? His protests sounded hollow even to him. With a sigh, thinking of the long night that lay ahead checking in with Dumbledore and then getting to the fourth year essays, Severus walked out of the house, feeling dirty despite the pouring rain that tried to wash him clean.

Some seven thousand kilometres away from where Severus Snape was picking his cautious way through a foggy lowland, Remus Lupin leaned forward, convulsively clutching the purple rabbit's foot key-chain. Some people enjoyed making trophies of the heads of dead animals or using their body parts to make novelties but Remus, perhaps because of his close association to animals and the guilt that came from realising that in his werewolf form he had probably killed his share of small beasts, considered such things macabre. Still, although he could feel the stiff, brittle bones and dulled, rounded claws beneath the purple coloured fur, Remus could not help smiling at the memory. He could still see it so clearly in his mind; the bright sunshine fading as the afternoon wore on, the blur of colours and faces, the scents of popcorn and pastry and spilled soda. Unable to stop being pulled inside his own memory, Remus closed his eyes. He could almost smell the popcorn, could nearly hear the excited shrieks of the kids on the ride, could nearly see a mental picture of an nineteen year old Sirius, fresh from Hogwarts and eager to see the world, forming in his mind.

"Hey, Moony!"

Remus stood, hands shoved into the pocket of the worn brown suede jacket, staring up at the Ferris wheel and attempted to suppress a shudder. He had no problem flying; Sirius had gotten him over that particular phobia, but he still felt concerned for all those Muggles, trapped in seats so high up. It all seemed so rickety. Nothing man-made should go that high, not ever, he thought to himself even as he turned away, glad for the distraction.

The chipped, yellow-painted fair booth Sirius was leaning against was nothing remarkable; the same could not be said for Sirius himself. Dressed in ripped blue jeans smeared with motorcycle oil and a black t-shirt, his dark hair longish and still damp from a shower, Sirius was easily the most attractive person at the Muggle fair. Groups of girls decked out in short skirts winked as they walked by and then broke into nervous giggles. Even a couple of guys gave him furtive glances. Sirius, of course, ignored them all.

"Watch this," Sirius said as Remus joined him. He slid a handful of Muggle coins across the scarred counter top and was handed ten plastic darts in various colours. "See that?" he asked, pointing at the rack of prizes.

Remus followed Sirius's hand and his eyes rested on a giant stuffed black dog, one of those stuffed animals larger then the children who tended to own them. He nodded slowly. Sirius, for all his talents, had never expressed an interest in throwing darts before and Remus rather doubted he'd be able to win much. Everyone knew fairs were rigged. "All right, Pads, I'll believe it when I see it."

With a bark-like laugh, Sirius slapped Remus on the back. "Oh ye of little faith," he taunted, pretending to look put out, though the pout on his lips did not match the gleam in his eye. He flashed a trademark smile, the one he used when he was proud of something and fully intended to make someone else proud too. "Just watch me. Moony?" Sirius exclaimed as Remus turned to scowl at the Ferris wheel. "You have to watch."

Instead of remarking that Sirius sounded like a petulant brat, which he did, Remus smiled affectionately. It was good to see Sirius happy again, finally. Immediately after leaving school he'd gotten in a tremendous row with his family, who had threatened to take away his inheritance. Remus knew Sirius was too proud and defiant to apologise, but he also knew Sirius had been depressed for a while. James, once Sirius's best friend, was dating Lily seriously and they were becoming quite involved. Sirius had been somewhat alone. Until now. Remus moved a little closer.

Sirius slapped Remus on the back with a rakish grin that melted the hearts of nearly everyone in the vicinity, though the booth attendant merely crossed his meaty arms over his grubby, sweat-stained white t-shirt and scowled. Leaning forward a plucking a dart from the counter, Sirius paused. He had a canine air about him, almost as if he was pointing or tracking. He drew back one arm and threw the dart with deadly precision. It sailed forward, hitting the direct centre of the bull-eye.

"Impressive," Remus agreed, nodding as Sirius raised an eyebrow and smirked at him.

Seven more darts all hit dead centre, quivering from impact. The booth attendant abandoned his posture of disinterest and gaped. Sirius threw another, turning to blow kisses to the small crowd of onlookers gathered around him. Two girls squealed; Sirius, winked and then turned back, forgetting all about them. He was used to being admired. While he liked giving the people a show, the girls batting their eyelashes and fixing their lipgloss held no interest for him.

"Last one," he said finally, picking up a single blue plastic dart and looking at the target. The red centre was no longer visible, filled up as it was by nine of Sirius's perfectly aimed darts.

Remus had to admit that for a guy wearing ripped jeans and a roach clip dangling from one ear like a strange feathered earring, Sirius was fairly impressive. His black hair fell over his eyes in a superbly attractive fashion and his eyes sparkled with a amusement and joy. Remus could not resist grinning and crossing his fingers as Sirius took aim, though Remus's eyes were fixed more on the tight denim then the target. He had known for a long time that he was in love with Sirius, though he had of course remained quiet. It was not acceptable, in the year 1978, to admit that he was in love with his best friend. Still, they were close friends and it was all right by anyone's standards of appropriate behaviour to hope Sirius won.

Thwack. The dart hit dead centre, quivering next to its fellows. Grudgingly, the booth attendant handed Sirius his prize from the very top row. From the crowd, several girls stepped forward, smiling aggressively and winking, clearly hoping the gorgeous black haired Sirius would pay them some attention. Sighing, Remus stepped back a little and turned away, looking back at the Ferris wheel. He was forever on the outside, admiring from afar, tangled in feelings he should not have and which, it seemed, no one would ever know. Although he was too kindly to fault them for it, Remus was jealous of those girls hovering in their pink and yellow shorts and waving with fingernails they had painted white. They had license to love Sirius; Remus did not.

"Moony, it's your turn," Sirius announced, pushing Remus forward and tearing him away from his melancholy thoughts. The bitter undertone of envy faded as the noise and chaos of the fair returned. Grinning, Sirius skittered some coins towards the balky booth attendant, who glared hatefully at Remus.

Don't worry, it's not like I'll win or anything, Remus thought, mentally projecting his thoughts to the grubby man. He had never played before and his hand was shaking slightly under the weight of Sirius's glance. He picked up one of the darts, closed his eyes, steadied his breathing and flung it forward. Opening his eyes, he saw that he had not hit the bull-eye. In fact, he had not hit the target at all. The dart had fallen into the dust behind the makeshift counter.

Ignoring Sirius's muffled snort and the tittering of the girls that had remained to lust after Sirius, Remus tried again. And again. On his last dart he managed to hit the outer edge of the target.

"I'm horrible at this," Remus mused, embarrassed and glad to be done.

"Yes, you are," Sirius laughed, patting Remus on the shoulder. His hand lingered for a moment before he swung one arm around Remus's shoulders.

"All right, you two, clear off. I've got paying customers waiting!" barked the attendant with a scowl, despite the fact that none of the passersby were showing the slightest interest in playing darts for prizes. "Oh yeah, consolation prize," he added, tossing a purple rabbit's foot key-chain at Remus before waving him and Sirius away.

"Here," Remus said abruptly, pressing the key-chain into Sirius's palm. He didn't know why, except that in his heart he felt he should repay Sirius for his devoted friendship. Gorgeous, amusing, sexy, brilliant Sirius Black, who could make girls faint by winking at them and who had captured the hearts of even the most sour teachers, could have had anyone as his friend. He could have -- should have, Remus thought to himself, allowing his negativity to rise -- chosen someone beautiful and clever, with a wonderful sense of humour and a love of sports. Instead, he'd chosen Remus Lupin, the impoverished werewolf whose idea of a good time was eating Honeydukes chocolate and reading every book the Hogwarts library had to offer. Sirius had dragged Remus out of his shell, forced him to overcome some of his shyness, taught him to swear and perfect the look of disdain Gryffindors were practically required to give to Slytherins. The little key-chain was nothing much, but Remus felt very clearly that he owed everything he had to Sirius.

To Remus's amazement, Sirius grinned as if he'd just been given the crown jewels and carte blanche to torment Severus Snape all in one. He reached over, his grin fading into a soft, pouty expression, his eyes going darker, deeper. Leaning forward, his fingers knotted in Remus's brown hair, Sirius kissed him, first on the left cheek, then on the right and finally on the lips. For the moment that the kiss lasted, Remus ceased to hear the roar of the crowds, the tinkling music and the urging of the carnies. All he knew was heat, the brisk scrape of Sirius's five o'clock shadow and the taste of cotton candy on Sirius's lips.

Finally, Remus felt Sirius pull away. Although he still felt dazed and stunned Sirius was already over it, shifting anxiously on one foot with puppyish enthusiasm. His eyes, bright and joyous, gave no hint of anything deeper as, with a grin, he handed Remus the giant stuffed dog. "For you."

"Oh, you don't --" Remus started to say, but Sirius shook his head and pressed a finger to Remus's lips, either unaware of the passersby gawking at them or just plain disinterested in what anyone else thought.

"Of course I don't have to, Moony. I want to." Sirius's eyes went soft for a minute, the shiny, mischievous glint fading to a look of something like longing. Then he smiled. "I want you to have it. It'll remind you of me. You can even call him Padfoot." The haughty gleam in Sirius's eyes shone as he attempted to hide a smile. He glanced away and then looked back, his grin huge as he reached for Remus's hand and dragged him forward. "Look! Ferris wheel!"

Shaking his head softly to clear away the memories, Remus smiled sadly. It was addictive, revisiting Sirius, especially during the pleasant times. If Remus admitted it to himself the pain and guilt were also addictive, but this was not the time. He had a meeting of the Order and with wizards disappearing right and left he would be bound to panic everyone if he delayed much longer.

Stepping out of the car, Remus pocketed the key-chain and looked down at the vehicle. He had never seen it before, of that he was certain. It was obviously Muggle, for it bore none of the enchantments and enhancements wizard-kind seldom could resist placing on their property. Where it had come from was a mystery. It seemed to be a sign of some sort, an omen of good or ill, though Remus could not decide what the intended meaning was.

Gold horizon edged along the purple sky and Remus followed it with his eyes, turned back to the stars, his one comfort. "Are you up there? he whispered. "Are you trying to tell me something, Sirius? Because if you are, there are better ways then this."

The sky made no reply, not that Remus had really expected to hear a voice from beyond the grave echoing in the cold stratosphere. He had turned to the star of Sirius time and again without answer and only imagined comfort. During his year teaching at Hogwarts, before Sirius had escaped the clutches of Azkaban, Remus had strolled the darkened grounds on occasion, unsure of he was praying or just wishing out loud.

"I need you," he said, louder this time. The wind blew past, stinging his eyes, but Remus refused to blink or turn away. "I have always needed you."

Cold comfort, but comfort it was, especially when the stars seemed to sparkle back. Remus guess it was his tears distorting the image, but it pleased him still. Although he could not explain it well he truly did feel Sirius at his side, perhaps not in body but certainly in spirit. The aura of eagerness, the flood of electricity and static that had always marked Sirius's presence seemed close by.

Smiling a little at himself and chiding himself under his breath for being a hopeless dreamer, Remus started down the highway, moving beyond the circle of light from the restaurant and nearby gas station. Within a minute he was standing in the shadows. He turned around, making sure no one was watching him, then whispered the charm and Disapparated.