Severus met Lupin in the forest as soon as the morning twilight brightened, when the cold still froze the skin with burning. The ground was thick with snow, and ice hung in glittering crystals off the trees.
Lupin didn't look as if he noticed the cold at all, but he was a werewolf; his temperature always ran much higher than a human's.
"Did you take the Wolfsbane?" was how Severus greeted him.
"First thing this morning," Lupin said, his breath rising in a fog. "I poured it in my kettle, in fact, and thought until I took the first sip that it was tea. Nasty shock, that."
"Good," Severus said curtly. "This way."
At first he followed the faded footpaths that centuries of forbidden excursions had beaten through the trees; but after four minutes' walking, he left even those faint marks of direction behind and struck off where the paths did not tread. Lupin followed, vanishing the tracks they'd left in the faint dusting of snow.
At least that much could be said of Lupin: he wasn't an idiot. He wasn't brilliant, not by a long shot, but he was clever enough to be smarter than most people, and added common sense into the bargain. If only he weren't so fucking irritating and false-hearted, Severus might have been sorry to hear, one day, that he'd dropped dead.
But those thoughts were the scorn of habit. For once, Severus didn't have much space inside his heart to spare for despising Lupin. Something would happen today. Even if the blood on that scrap of cloth in his pocket did not belong to Sirius Black, even if Lupin were leading him into a trap, the spell would work. Whatever trick Lupin had in mind would become clear today. . .
"Here," Severus said after exactly eleven minutes.
He'd cast spells in this clearing before, which was one reason he'd chosen it. The echo of his magic was easy for him to find. Other than that, the place was unremarkable, like any other small clearing: roughly circular, ten paces across, and deep enough into the forest that there was little snow on the ground. The air was still as cold as ever, the ground frozen and hard.
"Stand there. Have you ever seen a Dark spell performed of this magnitude?" Severus asked Lupin as he circled the clearing, tracing his future path.
As unreadable as ever, Lupin watched him, from his stationary place next to the tree Severus had indicated. "Nothing that involved this level of preparation, no. Only wand-magic."
"They used their wands for convenience, because they were used to it," Severus said. "No Dark magic is wand-magic."
"Its power flows through the caster," said Lupin, nodding. "Not through the wand."
Severus was surprised, though he controlled it. Most people, even educated minds like Minerva's, thought Dark magic was simply "magic that hurt people."
"Dark magic follows an entirely different set of principles than Light magic." He started pulling off his gloves. The cold raked across his exposed skin. "Such as how long it takes for the spell to complete itself."
"All right," said Lupin, sounding a bit confused for the first time.
"What I mean is that time will flow differently for me, as I am the caster. If you were inside the spell, the same would be true for you. You'll be outside it, however. You will stay outside it. Whatever you do, you will not step into the circle. Do I make myself clear?"
"It's clear to me right now," Lupin said. "Are you saying you think I'll try?"
"At some point, you might think it's a good idea to help me. It will be a terrible idea. You'll get rid of it and stay where you are." Severus almost didn't say the rest. "There is also folklore that claims that werewolves are affected by Dark magic—in a compulsory way."
Lupin's face and eyes seemed to harden. Wasn't that interesting.
"I don't know whether it's true or rubbish," Severus went on, not changing his tone, "but as your. . . curse. . . means you are affected differently than a. . . non-lycanthrope by some things, I would rather not add this to the list. It might jeopardize what we're doing."
"Understood," Lupin said, and once again, Severus couldn't read him at all.
"Here." Severus crossed the gap between them and held out a small paring knife. "I'd advise you to hold it by the blade. If anything happens, the pain should bring you out of it."
Lupin took the little knife by its handle, but be barely glanced at it. "I'm not sure a pain this insignificant will have much effect on me."
"It may," Severus said, and left it at that, because he wasn't interested in arguing with Lupin about anything to do with his curse and Dark magic.
"What if something goes wrong?" Lupin asked.
"It won't."
"Severus, I won't be able to tell. What if I think you're in some terrible trouble, but it's only how the spell is supposed to go?"
"When the spell finds him, you'll know. Until then, you will be patient."
Lupin sighed faintly. "What are you doing?" he asked a moment later, now sounding alarmed.
"Direct contact with the earth is necessary," Severus said, pulling off his left boot.
"It's freezing out here, you'll get frostbite—"
"Don't be an idiot," Severus said. He set his boots and socks against a tree and pulled from beneath his cloak the iron-tipped spear he'd brought.
"I'm guessing I don't need to help," Lupin said as Severus started scratching a circle in the earth with the spear, "or you'd be chivvying me into service."
"In fact, you read my mind. I was just about to ask you to yammer at me while I need to concentrate on what I'm doing."
"Understood," Lupin said, dryly that time, and fell blessedly silent.
Remus would have expected Dark magic to be more. . . sensational. The spear Snape had produced—quite unexpectedly—had a definite air of menace. But after alarming Remus by taking off his shoes and revealing the spear, Snape simply went about scratching a wide circle on the ground. It took him some time, as the earth was hard from the frosts and he didn't use any spells. Remus had nothing to do but wonder and worry about his feet.
Once the circle was complete, Snape simply tossed the spear aside and knelt in the middle of his circle. Then, without any sensation, he started building a fire with some kindling from his pocket and a flint. He did not seem to use any magic at any point, and it wasn't even a big fire.
Remus had expected chanting, and perhaps packets of herbs, bones, feathers. . . bloodletting. There was none of that yet. Remus was starting to think there never would be.
Now Snape was pulling out an aluminum canteen. He unscrewed its lid and dumped its clear, entirely unremarkable-looking contents over the fire.
Smoke billowed where the fire and water met, gushing across the ground, over Snape's knees, and up into the air—more and more smoke, covering the whole circle, blotting Snape from sight, flowing out across the clearing and rising up to Remus' shins, past his knees—
The earth thrummed beneath his feet. He felt it in his bones. The sky seemed to brighten and dim, and the stars wheeled overhead, white like diamonds in the black sky. The moon rose, full and powerful, its silver light running through his blood, bursting from skin, crushing his mind and blackening his soul with a force that moved the tides and warped the body of the earth—
A pain in his palm, and the world was the color it was supposed to be; the sky was gray and blocked by bare tree branches; the moon and stars were gone; and the clearing was patched with fog clinging along the ground.
Panting, Remus glanced down at his hand. He'd cut a deep, serious gash in his palm. It throbbed—because the knife's blade had been coated with aconite paste.
He didn't know whether to marvel at Snape's ability to be so cruelly effective or. . . something else.
Wait. . . where was Snape?
With a thrill of alarm, Remus realized he couldn't see him anywhere. He took a step toward the circle, and his whole body buzzed.
Cautiously, he curled his injured hand round the knife blade again. The aconite burned, but it cleared his head.
As carefully as if each step caused him pain equal to the knife blade, he took slow steps toward the circle. He'd call out for Snape only as a last resort.
When he saw, through the fog, a black shape lying prone on the ground in the circle's center, he didn't feel relieved to finally know where Snape was, nor did his worry clear even when he saw Snape's eyes were open. Was he breathing? From this distance, it was impossible to tell. Remus watched, but Snape didn't even blink.
When the spell finds him, you will know. Until then, you will be patient.
So, it was time for patience. Remus sighed.
He'd prefer to stay near the circle, to better see Snape, but the knife was starting to drive him mad. He tried letting go of it—
And felt the earth exhaling beneath him, like the breath from a pair of lungs so enormous it destroyed all his sense of infinity, and the sky warped like a massive ocean rippling—
He gripped the blade and everything returned to normal: simple, dull, cold. His head spun, from pain and from. . . something else.
"Well, Severus," he said shakily, breathing out. "The folklore was right after all. Though I'm not especially comforted, under the circumstances."
Harriet, Ron and Hermione stayed up so late in the Room of Requirement that they'd fallen asleep, and woken up on down pallets covered with down comforters. When they staggered down to breakfast, yawning and wearing the same clothes as last night, everyone stared at them. A thicket of wide eyes was an unpleasant sight, first thing in the morning.
After breakfast, they changed their clothes, and spent the morning playing Exploding Snap, which all three of them were rubbish at. But it was an unspoken part of their new-found truce, Harriet thought, not to do anything yet to upset things. It had only been a few hours since they'd officially stopped fighting.
At lunch, everyone continued to stare.
"Honestly," Hermione said, eating asparagus with a superior expression on her face, "I don't see what's so terribly interesting."
"You three aren't fighting," Ginny said, sitting down next to Harriet. "It's an amazing sight. Or we're all going barmy. Which is it?"
"Oh, shut it," Ron said, reaching for a plate of rolls. "I'm too hungry to deal with little sisters."
"We're fine, Ginny," Harriet said. "Thanks for dropping in."
Ginny rolled her eyes at them and pushed down the bench to sit with her friends.
Someone was hovering next to the table, looking for a place to sit. Neville had come late to lunch.
"Hi, Neville," Harriet said, and patted the empty bench next to her where Ginny had sat. "You looking for a seat?"
Neville looked ready to faint from hunger, so Harriet tugged him onto the bench and pushed the stew pot at him. Ron choked on a potato, probably from trying to inhale them, and Hermione shot him a look.
"Thanks for your help yesterday," Harriet said to Neville, who spilled stew all over the table.
"Yeah," Ron said, smirking a little. "Thanks, mate. We owe you one." Hermione pursed her lips, but didn't say anything.
Neville squeaked something and tried to eat his stew with his knife.
"Are you all right?" Harriet asked him.
"He's fine," Ron said, still smirking. "Let the bloke eat. What are we doing this afternoon?" He brightened. "You haven't got your Firebolt back yet, have you?"
"No, it's still with Professor McGonagall. She said she'll let me know when it's done. But I've got tea with Hagrid this afternoon. In fact. . ." She checked her watch. "I should get going, I'll need to get my cloak and everything. I'll see you two later, all right?"
Ron nodded and saluted with a potato on a fork; Hermione waved as Harriet left the table. At the door to the Great Hall, Harriet paused and looked back. They were still sitting on opposite sides of the table, but directly across from each other, their heads bent a little down, like they wanted to be closer, or didn't want anyone else to intrude. . .
And somehow, though she'd achieved what she wanted last night, Harriet felt a deep sadness: a sense that she'd brought them back together, so they could move further away from her.
When Remus heard a rustle in the undergrowth behind him, he gripped the knife so tightly he cut himself where his finger met his palm. But it wasn't from surprise—or at least, none that was entirely unexpected.
He turned as Padfoot came sniffing into the clearing.
"Padfoot," he hissed, stealing a glance at Snape; but there was no change in him, though it had been four and a half hours since he'd covered the clearing in smoke and fallen inert.
Padfoot growled. He was facing Snape, hackles raised, body arched in a frightened, furious pose.
Remus strode away from the circle and backed Padfoot into the cover of the trees. Immediately, Sirius was before him, with his matted hair and rotted prison robes, looking white and livid.
"This was your fucking plan?" he hissed. "That's Snape! I recognize his fucking scent—"
"He's helping us find Peter—"
"What did you tell him, Remus?"
"I told him I was trying to find you, and gave him the bed sheet with Peter's blood on it. I studied the spell beforehand. You were safe from it. It finds by blood, not by intent."
"Christ on a fucking broom," said Sirius, staring at Remus almost like he didn't know who he was.
Remus gazed back, unwavering, gripping the knife as hard as if he were standing next to the spell circle.
"I don't know whether that's clever as fuck or just really bloody disturbing," Sirius said at last.
"I figured you wouldn't agree to go through with it if I told you."
Sirius snorted. He didn't reply, just raked a hand through his hair (as far as he could get it) and glanced at the circle. "Dark magic? Knew that tosser was into it."
"We can congratulate ourselves on our moral superiority later," Remus said sharply. "A spell like this will take a great toll on him, Sirius. He's helping us."
"For his own shady fucking reasons, no doubt."
"And if they're anything like our own, 'shady' doesn't begin to cover it. You broke into Hogwarts and stabbed the Fat Lady with a knife, and I've lied to everyone for months."
"Since when are you so bloody defensive of that git?" Sirius grunted.
"Guilty conscience," Remus said calmly. "If we find Peter, we can all abjure ourselves."
"If we find that shit, I'll be doing something a lot more fucking satisfying. How long have you been out here, anyway? Your nose is red. Your nose never gets red."
"Almost five hours. He took off his damn shoes, and he's been lying on the bloody ground. I'm worried he'll get frostbite."
"Can't make him look any worse than he does now," Sirius said—philosophically, for him.
"Yes, because you and I would really win a beauty contest."
"I won every fucking year in Azkaban. Bella's cackling always threw off the judges. They liked my barely sane mystique."
They fell silent, perhaps from that subject matter, perhaps from the situation. The fog still lay in a carpet across the frozen ground, Snape swathed at the center, unmoving.
"Do you think it's gonna work, Moony?" Sirius asked quietly.
"Severus thinks it will," Remus said. "I'm trusting he's right."
"Never thought I'd fucking say this," Sirius muttered. "But let's hope he's more trustworthy than we are, at this point."
It was boundless everything doors and windows opening to eternity
not like it had always been standing without and looking in for it was looking within and seeing all that lay without
an eternity and yet an instant traversed by longing
He opened the door and stepped through it
Pain—boundless pain—burning through everything, every thought, every sense—sight, smell, hearing, taste, touch, all were pain—
Severus peeled himself away from it. Agony raged through his body, but he separated his mind from it, placing that conscious, thinking part of himself inside a room with no windows, only a door, and locking the door behind him.
Inside the room, he could do nothing. He had no sense of where he was, or what was happening around him. But inside the room, his sense of self sat untouched, unaffected by physical tortures that had driven others insane.
There he would wait, while his body weathered the pain, until it was safe to come back to himself.
"What's the fucking matter with him?" Sirius demanded, as Snape's body bent into a shape that ought reasonably to have broken his spine.
"I don't know," Remus said, barely managing to keep a handle on his panic. This was far, far worse than he'd imagined. "I mean—it's backlash, from the spell—"
"Backlash? What fucking backlash?"
"From the Dark spell—you know this, your parents—"
"My parents collected fucking knick-knacks and used their wands for opening doors," Sirius said, watching Snape with a kind of detached fascination. "But. . . but Bella was into this kind of sick shit. She used to bash her head on the furniture and bite straight through her tongue, the batshit bint." He scraped the back of his hand across his mouth, like he was wiping it, still watching Snape as he slumped to the side. "I'd forgot. I remember now. Yeah. Backlash."
The way he said it and the look on his face—that blank interest in his eyes—made something twinge inside Remus. Like forgetting huge chunks of information was normal, and it was nothing new to have it come slowly back to him like this.
"Reminds me of Cruciatus, too," Sirius said, as Snape collapsed from a new, horrific contortion onto his other side, panting, before curling up like someone had kicked him in the stomach.
"He doesn't seem to even know we're here," Remus said. He stood outside the circle, mindful of Snape's injunction to stay there—remembering what Snape had said, too, when Remus asked him to help. . . but of course that was what Snape would think of him, and of course it would be extremely difficult to stand here doing nothing while someone was in so much pain.
And it rather reminded him of days twenty years gone by. He wondered if Snape had someone divined that, or if it was just life's sense of justice at work.
"Trust me," Sirius said, "it's nowhere near as fucking freakish as when Bella'd do it. She'd thrash around like this and look like she was getting her rocks off. Well, it's true," he said when Remus looked at him incredulously.
"Sirius," he said, controlling his temper with an effort, "do you have any memories concerning Bellatrix that would be helpful here, now?"
"You can't do anything for him," Sirius said. "He's just got to get through it."
"He wouldn't tell me how to help him—"
"'Cause you can't," Sirius said patiently. "Trust me, Moony. I've seen 'em go through this. Snape's got to live through it or die trying. Why d'you think most people don't do these spells?" he asked when Remus stared. "Being illegal never stopped 'em. It was dropping dead that did it."
When he was sure it was safe, Severus unlocked the room and let himself out.
The world flooded with light.
Someone was saying his name, over and over, which was especially fucking irritating right now, especially considering who it was. But thank God he knew who it was, he could recognize that voice. The relief that he hadn't lost his mind after all was almost enough to make him happy to hear it.
"You better not have stepped into the circle, Lupin," he said. At least, he tried to. He wasn't sure how intelligible he'd been. His throat felt raw and torn inside, and speaking was agony.
With a superhuman effort, he pushed himself up on one elbow and looked for the fire. It still burned, at least three feet high now. Good. Thank Christ. If it had gone out, he'd have failed.
He dragged himself close to it. Still on one elbow, he groped inside his pocket and pulled out the strip of cloth with the bloodstains. He dropped it twice before he managed to crumple it and throw it onto the fire.
The fire burst apart, like the petals of a flower flinging itself open, and then curled back into itself before flaring in a thick column into the air. It plunged into the sky, higher and higher, until he couldn't see where the top of it reached.
Then, with a deafening, soundless boom, it shrank back into itself, thinned and twisted, and shot off into the forest, leaving behind a glittering, fiery trail.
He stared at it, his heart beating so hard it felt like it was trying to beat out of his chest.
Then he looked at Lupin, who was staring after it, too, shock and hope so very clear on his face.
Lupin glanced back at him, eyes wide.
"Go," Severus croaked.
"Severus—"
"GO!" Severus panted, his fingers curling on the frozen ground. "I'll—follow—"
And Lupin ran.