Give Me Your Hand

.~*~. Give Me Your Hand .~*~.

Chapter Four

Caring and Coldness

****

That night neither of the two men slept well. They tossed and turned in their beds, Remus in the master bedroom, Severus in the guest room, neither able to get rid of the nightmares that kept disturbing them. When the morning finally came, both were already up, pacing nervously and unable to go back to sleep.

They met each other in the living room. No words were exchanged; mere looks were enough. Still staying silent, they both made their way to the study, which was located between the two bedrooms. Nothing had happened, they knew that; nobody could have penetrated the wards without them noticing it. Still they had to know for sure, to remind themselves that if it had been just a nightmare, they hadn't woken up yet.

In his transformed cradle little Harry Pettigrew slept peacefully, unaware of anything going on around him. Both men approached him carefully, stopping to stand next to the cradle, looking down at the child.

After a moment Severus broke the silence. "I will help you with him," he offered. "You can't care for an infant all alone, especially not around the full moons. I certainly owe Peter that much."

"Thank you, Severus," Remus said softly. Then he sighed. "We should probably wait until Dumbledore gets the last wards up," he said. "Then we can get Harry's stuff from the Pettigrews." He fell then silent again, deep in thought. This all seemed now so real, so... so final. And it was just that.

Severus merely nodded, not saying anything. "I can make breakfast if you want anything," he offered.

The mere thought made Remus suffer. "Oh, no. Cook for yourself if you want, but I don't think I could keep anything down." The Slytherin, however, shook his head. He wasn't hungry, either.

As if on an unspoken agreement, both drew their wands. Doing their best to avoid any noise, they started to empty the room. Some things they put into a pile that would be burned later, the others they simply levitated out of the room to be got rid of later. At times Remus hesitated, not wanting to destroy something of his husbands, but a glance at little Harry and Severus's pained face as he worked helped him decide.

At last the only object left in the room was Harry's cradle. The child was fortunately a good sleeper; according to Lily, he had never woken up at night, instead sleeping peacefully. Now he stayed quiet and asleep as the two men looked at each other.

"What colour shall we make the walls?" asked Severus at last, raising an eyebrow. "No offense, but I don't think this is suitable for a child." He waved his hand towards the dark brown walls.

Remus shrugged. "I think that pale blue might be as good an option as anything else," he replied. As Severus nodded, he waved his wand towards one wall, murmuring the words. Severus did so to the other wall, and then the third, while Remus took care of the last one. Severus's final touch was to turn the cradle white instead of the previous shade of oak the original chair had been.

Just as they finished recolouring the room, somebody knocked on the front door. They glanced at each other. Severus then remained in the study turned nursery, while Remus made his way to the door.

Although the mirror showed him Dumbledore, he still kept his wand at ready as he opened the door. The Headmaster greeted him with a sad smile. "Ah, Remus," he said. "How has little Harry been?"

As if on a cue a loud wail echoed from inside the house. Hurrying after Remus towards the source of the sound, Dumbledore dug his pockets. "I think I got something just for this... ah... yes!" He drew a baby bottle from his pocket, filled it with a tap of his wand and gave it to the young werewolf. Remus accepted it, looking relieved, and continued to hurry towards the wailing child.

As they entered the freshly made nursery, they found Severus walking around with the crying baby in his arms, trying to talk soothingly at little Harry. As Remus gave him the bottle, he accepted it gratefully, then stuck it into the baby's mouth. After blinking his teary eyes a couple of times, Harry started to suck greedily onto the bottle, milk disappearing from it as quickly as his little mouth could draw it out.

Dumbledore and Remus watched as Severus's expression softened into one of tender care. The Headmaster then said, "What do you say, Remus, should we set up the wards while Severus is feeding Harry?" The werewolf merely nodded in response. Severus, however, didn't say anything.

So, the two other wizards left, leaving the Potions Master into his dreams of what could have been.

*

It was dark and cold in the little cell. The man imprisoned there shivered as a cold breeze flew past, stealing whatever little warmth he had managed to gather. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he stared at the stone floor in front of him. There was a mark of old, dried blood on it. He didn't care.

There were no Dementors around his cell. Why would there have been? There was nothing in there for them to feed on. He had no happy thoughts, not anymore. Not after his failure.

He'd failed them all. He'd trusted a man who couldn't be trusted, and now he had failed, and they were dead. Nothing could bring them back now. Nobody would ever believe him.

The prisoner wanted to cry, but he wouldn't let himself to do so. Crying was a weakness, and he wouldn't show any weakness. He had to stay strong. Weakness in this place was the first step towards insanity.

Dementors maybe didn't gather around him due to his lack of happiness, but they were there. He could feel them all around the prison, desiring, devouring. Never dreaming, though, as Dementors could not dream. They didn't rest, either. The torture was endless; not even dreams were free of pain in this place. And all the time he felt the Dementors lurking around, touching the borders of his mind, desiring.

Some other prisoner down the corridor screamed, but he ignored the sound. The poor soul had gone insane, absolutely insane. Some day he would be the one screaming, he knew that. Hopefully not soon.

It was easy to believe that this pain might make somebody insane. It was tearing him apart, and he had only been there for two days. Or three, it was hard to tell. Nothing told of time in this horrible place.

The pain might have been easier if he had transformed, but he didn't do so. Not yet. Not while he still could resist the cold touch of the Dementors' minds, while he still could think straight, avoid crying. He was in mental and emotional pain but didn't care, knowing that he deserved it. He deserved all of it for what he had done, and he would take this punishment and suffer through it. And he would remain sane.

The prisoner was shaken from his pondering when he heard soft footsteps approaching in the corridor. A visitor, he knew immediately. To his surprise the sounds stopped right before his cell. But who would visit him? Nobody wanted to see him, that was for sure. They didn't understand.

A moment later the door was pushed open and four forms stepped inside. Well, one stepped, the other three glided in. One visitor, three Dementors, all dressed in black cloaks.

Then the visitor pushed back the hood of his cloak. Cold black eyes watched him, and he shivered involuntarily. Severus. This was a man who would not show mercy to him. He didn't understand.

"I don't understand," Severus said, not knowing that he was voicing the prisoner's thoughts. "I simply don't understand, James. You were one of those who pulled me back from the Dark side, you wouldn't let me fall. Wouldn't let me join the Death Eaters even as a spy, fearing that I might slip. And now you've betrayed us all." The voice was empty of any emotions, smooth and icy, untouched by anything. His eyes, however, were blank and dead, full of something that went beyond any usual emotions.

He wanted to say that it wasn't true, that they didn't understand, but he couldn't. Instead, he watched as Severus took a step towards him, hatred clear in his dark eyes. "How could you, James?" the Slytherin whispered. "Sirius was your best friend. How could you kill him?" As no answer was given, he continued, "It wasn't just that, you bastard. Sirius... Sirius was pregnant. With my child, a child that you murdered. How does that feel like? To know that you have killed an unborn child?"

Nothing was said as the hazel eyes just stared at him. So, after a moment, the other man snorted, "Not that you care, of course. You killed your best friend and betrayed the Pettigrews, knowing full well it might cause the death of little Harry. Of course you wouldn't care about a child that was never even born."

Again, there was silence. Then Severus continued, "Remus has requested for a divorce. There is no doubt he will get one, considering what you have done. I can't say that I blame him." After a small pause, he finished, "At least he is separated from his husband by choice."

The prisoner didn't move, didn't say anything. He just stared at the other man, his former friend, his face a mask of desperation, pain, and agony. None of this moved Severus the tiniest bit.

Glaring at the bespectacled man, the Potions Master spat, "I hope you rot in Hell, murderer." Then he turned around and left the cell. The Dementors followed him, and the door was locked once again.

And now the prisoner, who this far had just sat in silence, let his head fall down, hiding his face against his arms. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he cried without a sound.

The Dementors didn't stay around his cell. There was nothing in there that interested them.

*