Haunted

haunted
a harry potter story
by charisma

_______________________________
im so tired of being here
supressed by all my childish fears
and if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
cause your presence still lingers here
and it wont leave me alone
"my immortal" -- evanescence

Fury radiated so thickly through his fingers that he nearly believed it would collect in a puddle on his floor. His entire body was tense, rigid and liable to break was anyone to merely glance hard enough at him. The quiet sound of a droplet crashing onto the dungeon floor boomed throughout the cavernous area and his eyes slowly traveled down. Thankfully, it was sweat. Sweat had formed so many layers on his forehead that it now needed to roll off the end of his long nose and hit the ground. Seconds ticked by and another sweat drop rolled, spattered, and echoed. It took a moment for him to realize.

He was not furious.

For hours he had been standing in his dungeon, having packed the things in his office for the trip back to Hogshead. For hours. Of course. That was the only way the large accumulation of sweat had collected on his face and why his hands were shaking so badly. His eyes weren’t blinking and watered wildly. Using one hand to rub both sweat and eyes, Severus Snape finally moved his feet only to find them mutinous. He swayed and – fell.

Horrified, whether that he had fallen or why he had, the dark-haired teacher scrambled into his stance and shook off all feelings of turmoil. There was no way he would allow his enemies to continue haunting him after their deaths. A gruesome and particularly wicked smile worked up over his face. Well self-delusion was a rather nasty habit, wasn’t it? There hadn’t been a moment before when he allowed Potter’s death to rid him of the constant screaming in his head and Black’s death would not be any different.

Standing so perfectly solid, he waited until his hands had stopped their cursed trembling before raising his bags. They only jarred a minute distance. His voice rose in intensity, in anger and in power and suddenly – the bags hit the ceiling and would have sprang apart if he hadn’t charmed them not to. Finally, he managed to make them float along at a reasonably height.

Everyone was gone. The students, the staff, everyone. Expect perhaps Dumbledore. And the only reason that he, that he the dark-haired dark-eyed tall hooked nose man remained was his inexplicable immobility for those lost hours. How could he have let these demons haunt him so? Angrily, he slammed the door to his dungeon and huffed as the dutifully following luggage banged loudly against the wood. He was getting sick of all his magic not working out correctly. There was absolutely no reason whatsoever for him to be even slightly shaken off course. He had nothing to be emotional about. And he wasn’t. No. He wasn’t being emotional. He didn’t have emotions besides anger.

And he did rightly so to convince himself of that every morning.

There were no reasons for him walking across the entire Hogwarts lawn to get out of bounds of the Apparate ward. Hogsmeade was just as easily accessible through the lower caverns that students took all year but he refused to stay in the castle any longer. It was definitely soothing; stomping across carefully tended grass and landscaping. Actually, he was almost disappointed when he reached the point that he could Apparate. Would he have to, honestly? Couldn’t he continue stomping until his legs finally exhausted themselves and forced him to rely upon his magic?

Damned magic hadn’t gotten him far before. All that studying, all that time and effort and blood he had poured into the accursed art and it gave him nothing. Anger rushed through his veins and he remembered it.

True anger then? He hadn’t felt true anger in such a very long time…

"it’s more the fact he exists, if you know what I mean," rang so surprisingly clear that he actually looked up and around but no – there was no fifteen year old James Potter taunting him and if there had been… well he was a much more capable wizard and could blast the bastard easily. He frowned deeply when those thoughts didn’t give him much satisfaction. And Potter’s stupid son really thought he was so incensed over that peek. That boy didn’t realize that it wasn’t anger? Shame, horror, pure and utter sorrow but not anger. He had dispensed his entirety of anger into the lost remains of Black and Potter; there was nothing left but afterimages to spread over his students.

This had been so much easier when Black was alive, in the flesh, so much easier to hate him. Now that he was dead… he’d been hating Potter for nearly thirty years and the man had been dead half of them. Yet, there was no more bickering. Just the dreams and oh how those dreams kept him brewing constantly. Dreamless Sleep Draughts took two months to concoct and were no easy task. That death would make it worse, most likely. The two could join forces and attack him perhaps even during his waking hours. And there wouldn’t be any one to help him. Lily Evans wouldn’t rush forth to protect him, despite his half-hearted screams of Mudblood and Remus Lupin’s pathetic large eyes would never grace his face again.

Nearly livid, a man with long black hair and eyes not as cold as he liked waved his wand superfluously and Apparated to his home in Hogsmeade. Curses flew out of his mouth like air as he had to return to the school, collect his baggage and then appear in front of the meager accommodation that was his living space. He didn’t care. It was a gratifying thought to hold onto desperately, but it slipped from his mind like darting fish. His home was in desperate need of lawn care and paint. Still, it kept the unwanted away and most quickly strode past it. The outside never mattered really, did it? For who could honestly say that appearances gave you a true look inside someone? Something Severus, he reminded himself coldly, no mentioning of persons.

As the mottled brown luggage flew through the now open door to his home, the Potions professor noticed something off. His street was quiet and most inhabitants stayed strictly in their homes but… but what was that feeling? He glanced more carefully around the tall weeds under his window and sure enough, they were matted awkwardly without the feral of the surrounding wildlife. Wand was out before his thoughts made it so; his sharp breath was about to mutter a stunning charm –

"There’s no need to stun me."

The wand of purpleheart clattered uselessly to the stone sidewalk, violet polished wood gleaming in the dying sun. If he had been less perplexed, he would have bent to retrieve it. Sitting there looking most like a frumpled child denied a week of goodies was Remus Lupin. His eyes were large and sad, stormy as ever with his prematurely grey hair askew. With an exorbitant motion, the angry teacher stooped and picked up his wand, resisting the urge to cross his arms. Crossing his arms was a terrible habit; it only showed that he needed to be closer to himself, he needed to protect poor little Severus hiding deep in the corners of his robes. And he never needed to protect that boy again.

"You," he spat, nearly delighting in the way he managed to make it so believable. Really Remus, did you have to return? Why couldn’t you have just died like the rest of them?

He was awkward for a wolf. "Yes. Me. I couldn’t – I couldn’t- I couldn’t stay at that house."

"You picked a queer place to escape." He was inching towards his door and if only that man wouldn’t look at him like a lost puppy that had been beaten. He was never good at resisting the beaten…

"I’m not escaping I need-" Those hands were clutching at his sides and why was Lupin staring at him like he knew what he needed? He wasn’t a mind reader. Oh wait…

"I highly doubt you’ll find it here, Lupin." His hands were trembling again as they gripped the door and he couldn’t shut it. Perhaps those werewolf reflexes were good for something as the man darted forward and cowered, shaking so badly that the coins in his pockets were jangling.

That voice was low, as if it were some secret. "Sirius is dead. You’re the only one who- the only one who-"

"The only one who knows what an absolute bastard he was? Why yes Lupin, I think I am. While everyone was so busy exalting the one true god that was James Potter and his faithful but no less important sidekick Sirius Black, I certainly-" His voice stopped. Really, he just didn’t feel like it. To carry on with the man who looked so utterly defeated. Severus Snape pulled away from the towering position he had taken in his doorframe and wearily motioned the downtrodden man inside. But there was no way he’d offer him tea. No. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lupin-"

With no warning, there were arms clinging to his shoulders and a weight that dragged him to his knees. Alarmed, the dark-haired man moved to shove quite violently the obtruding object only to discover that there were sad hiccups emitting from it. Remus Lupin, a werewolf nearly forty with streaked hair and sad eyes, had attached himself to one of his enemies; face pressed into the darkness that was the other’s robes and shaking so roughly he would dislocate something. Severus Snape, who had no dealings with such blatant emotions, knelt ungainly, searching over the other’s head desperately for some sort of answer to the puzzle that had become Lupin.

"Oh God they’re all gone and I couldn’t do anything to protect any of them I’m such a failure all I could do was just stand there and I couldn’t do anything I couldn’t save any one of them I watched them all die and they tried so much to save me but I never saved them they all died and I never saved them at all." Something foreign came from Lupin’s mouth, some other language as he most likely continued to belittle himself for being ineffective.

His hands floated above the growth to his midriff, not finding quite the right place to settle. Never before had he had someone attach themselves to his person. The shaking and sobbing continued. He pretended desperately not to notice his own hands, the tumultuous state his body was now in.

So long. For so long he had hated those two men. One was dead and he hadn’t stopped hating then. Couldn’t stop, not with the little carbon-copy running amuck. But now… now the other was dead. Now those two haunting faces would never been seen with the sun’s pure light. Who was he to cling to those fears? Who was he to make his enemies remain here? It sickened him that he needed them; he needed their teasing and their brutal tormenting to continue with his life. But Sirius Black was dead. Gone forever. Was he really going to let that bloody git stay with him for eternity?

This time, the drop that fell from that large hooked nose was not sweat.

Years stretched between the collapse and Lupin’s withdraw. The man huddled into a ball, curling his arms over his head and whispering. A few minutes later, Severus Snape, sworn enemy of the Marauders, knelt willingly beside the fetal man and placed the cup of tea near him. After moments when Lupin showed no sign of ceasing his incessant rocking, the other stood and left, reorganizing his belongings and settling back into his home. Lupin was staring blankly into the teacup when he returned.

"How did I survive?" His tone was distant, withdrawn, laden with tears, each word harshly punctuated and angry, slow in their murder. "I was the diseased git and I outlasted them all. There is no future for me but I’m the only one still here. It’s because I’m the coward, isn’t it? I was never too deep in their schemes, always fighting against them. I was scared. I should be dead. I robbed Harry of his family. I should not exist."

Silence stretched.

"Are you waiting for me to deny this, Lupin?" He would have continued in those dark rich tones if Lupin hadn’t spoke again. Why did he have to use that piercing voice? That cruelly honest and despairing voice.

"God no, Severus. Just…" His eyes were so large. The cup clattered against the saucer in his hand. "Would you kill me?"

"What?!" He sprang up, spilling tea all over the floor but that was hardly the matter. His eyes were so blazing with shock and the other’s so large with sadness and pain.

"I’m too weak to do it myself. I tried, I did Severus, but I’m the coward. I cause pain wherever I go. They died because of me and… and we can all be together in death." His voice became a whisper. "And I won’t hurt Harry."

"You idiot! You think your death will make Potter ebullient and painless? Are you bloody mad? If there’s anything left in this world for that boy it’s those bloody Weasleys, that Granger brat, and you. Your death would surely send him to St. Mungo’s!" Loudly was his voice, barraging as if he were in the classroom again. At his feet, Lupin looked small, deflated.

"He’d have you, if you’d quit being so melodramatic and admit you don’t hate him."

"Shut up." Severus Snape was quite handy with words but sometimes, nothing was better than a quick pop culture retort. So what if Lupin was right? He’d never admit it and the boy couldn’t ever know that he had a silent ally. Anger was the key; it always had been. A deep intake. "This is about you wanting to die. Stop being so selfish Lupin – face death like every man before you has done."

"I don’t know if I can." Whispered: a child’s response to the scary monsters lurking beneath the bed.

"You will. Even if I have to enchant you myself." And his was whispered too, the tone so far from the previous.

Lupin seemed to battle with himself for long moments, staring into the cup then at the floor, then one quick glance up into the face of his friends’ entertainment. Rising twice, because the first he collapsed on weak legs, Lupin sheepishly ran a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Give a wolf a place to sleep?"

He received a sneer in reply.

The next morning, Severus Snape did not bother looking for his houseguest. He actually would have never even searched for a note had the blasted furry git not charmed it to float three inches in front of his face. Vexed, he tore it out of the air and read the contents:

Scowling, the dark-haired man tore up the note and was remotely satisfied when the white pieces slowly drifted to the floor. Their scribbled letters meant nothing lying as discarded snow on the ground. Settling for a smirk this time, he headed into the kitchen but neglected to make breakfast. He didn’t feel much like eating. In fact –

He was halfway to the room in the back of his house where he made potions and other various magical things when something occurred to him. A row of vials filled with the dark green Dreamless Sleep Draught was perched near the door. Last night’s was filled. Which meant that… which meant that…

Freedom.