The Devil's Due
Jan. 31st, 2007 12:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teleidoplexTitle: The Devil's Due
Rating: NC17 (eventually)
Fandom: Harry Potter/Crow Crossover
Summary:Six months after Voldemort's victory and the Fall of Harry Potter, an angry spirit rises from the grave to wreak bloody vengeance.
Spoilers: HBP and the Crow mythology
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the mythology. Just my sick imagination.
Archive: At Twisting the Hellmouth and Crossoverfic. If you want it, check with me first.
A/N:Thanks to Selenya,who helped me conceive this bunny. On the night before her wedding, noless. Let’s hear it for dedicated Goff Grrls!
Chapter 7 – Rain Forever
“What’s this?”
Lily glanced up at Severus’ question as she adjusted one of his Death Eater cloaks around her shoulders. She had been only mildly surprised to find he had several. Apparently, blood-drenched cloaks were a hazard when one was a Death Eater. Underneath the cloak she was wearing another of Walburga’s ensembles, this one in severe black gabardine and worsted. The old woman’s hatred and prejudice seethed at the edges of Lily’s senses.
She stilled as Severus lifted a hand and with a finger gently traced the black slashes she’d drawn across her cheeks. She knew from her time before the cracked mirror upstairs that with her pale skin and black-smudged eyes they gave her the look of a mad-grinning clown. Her lips widened in a smile that held no humor.
“A reminder, Severus. Every wound should leave a scar. It’s what makes us human.”
She could feel the panic rising to the surface as she contemplated what she’d done after Avery had given her those wounds, as she contemplated what she was called to do this night. Severus blinked at her words, but his cold black eyes remained shuttered and distant. She wondered how long ago he’d abandoned his humanity. If she stayed her course, would she end up like him? A gloomy, black crow living in the past, gazing sullenly out at the world from behind his loneliness, yet cawing his dissatisfaction whenever anyone dared to disturb his solitude?
“You’re human, Lily—”
“Not now, Severus.” She marveled at the improbability of comfort coming from him. His finger was still tracing her cheek. She shook it away, “Later…you can make your attempts to comfort and reassure me later,” her black-feathered guide landed on the porch railing. She smiled humorlessly as Severus jerked away from the bird, “Let’s go. We have work to do.”
The crow launched itself into the air, soaring through the gloaming while the darkening landscape of London spread out under it like a grimy topographical map. Down below, their black-cloaked forms moved through the rain-slicked streets. The gloomy drizzle that had started in the early hours had not let up. It darkened pavement and stone in shades of gray, draining color and life from the city.
With a strange, layered vision Lily could see the crow’s perspective of mapped streets overlaying her own view of the twisting warrens. It was dizzying and seductive. The distant, alien view of the crow let her leave her own body, her own thoughts, her own pain and fear and guilt, and the flashes of emotions and memories that she pulled from everything she touched. When she soared free, the trace remnants of bloodsmell, the recollection of Nott’s wordless howls and Avery’s choked begging, the feel of Severus’ wary gaze boring into her, all were left behind. When she gave herself up to that other vision, that other layer of perception, she was able to ignore the pangs of empathy and compassion. It gave her the detachment necessary to do what she had to do.
And it horrified her.
Pulling back from the soaring abyss of the presence above, she stopped momentarily, leaning against a nearby wall for support. Severus stopped beside her, tentatively placing one hand on her arm in concern.
“Lily…”
“I’m fine.” She struggled away from his concern, even as she focused on his voice, his touch, to anchor her to her body, to the shadowed alley, and to the enormity of what she was about to do. She shook her head and continued walking; Severus fell in at her side.
“Tell me about them,” she instructed him.
“Sorry?” She didn’t turn, but his confusion was evident from his tone.
“The others. Voldemort’s supporters. Why do they follow? What is it about them that allows them to do these…things.” She knew already, somehow. Asking him was pointless. She knew because the crow knew. Yet she wanted…needed to know some other way. When he remained silent, she filled the space between them with words, “Vengeance is a horrid thing, Severus, unless it can be leant meaning through metaphor and irony. Nott was a hedonist, so he was consumed by the flames of his own pleasure pursuits. Avery was a sadist who tasted the steel of his own blades. But what of the others?”
She sensed his hesitation, as he processed the implication that what he told her would inform how she killed them – his colleagues, his friends. She wondered if he was aware how twisted and shadowed his loyalties had become. Or perhaps, she conceded, they’d always been this ambiguous. She couldn’t be sure; the Severus Snape she’d known hadn’t had friends. He’d kept everyone at a distance with sullen looks and an acidic tongue. He’d always given the impression of being emotionally unassailable. Affectless.
It was what had drawn James and Sirius to torment him so brutally, that challenge Severus offered. It was what drew her to him now, for different reasons. His quiet presence was a more comforting refuge than the soaring abyss that cawed above her and called her to vengeance. She understood what he wanted from her, even as she knew he would never impose that wanting on her. And when she let her mind flicker over possibilities, it didn’t fill her with revulsion the way the thought of killing did.
“Crabbe and Goyle.” His rich voice broke the silence that had stretched between them. It took her a moment to realize that it was in response to her question. Apparently, Severus had decided to rest his loyalties with her. His tone was thick with sneering, “They’re interchangeable. Too much inbreeding, perhaps. They’re bullies, simple and straightforward. They like having power and they like wielding it. If they were more intelligent, they’d be Voldemort’s most trusted lieutenants because their ambitions are so simple and easily fed. But I suppose if they were more intelligent, they wouldn’t be so simple.”
He fell silent as they passed a few muggles, homeless and huddled in the alleyway they were traversing. Human trash. She felt a twinge of guilt, all her own. She hadn’t even noticed them until he did.
“Bellatrix,” he continued once they’d left the shivering forms behind, “she’s insane. She’s more Voldemort’s toy than a serious lieutenant. Fanatically loyal, but completely unpredictable. Lucius is entirely the opposite. If you understand his motivations he’s completely predictable and not the least bit loyal.”
“And what are his motivations?” Severus had stopped before a door in the alley. She stopped at his side so that he had to hunch over her to answer her question.
“He’s an ideologue. He believes his own rhetoric. Utterly. Superiority of the Purebloods, separation from the Muggle world. He follows Voldemort because he’s convinced himself that a megalomaniacal half-blood is the way to achieve it. He’s so stubbornly convinced in the rightness of his own beliefs, one could almost mistake him for a Gryffindor.”
“Pettigrew,” he snorted dismissively, “Pettigrew wants power, but he’s too much a coward to try to take it for himself. He’s willing to bend and scrape and lurk in the shadows, feeding off the scraps he’s offered. He’s the perfect sycophant.”
He lapsed into silence, then reached for the door handle. She grasped his arm, staying him. She wasn’t finished with him yet.
“And you?” she asked.
She felt his arm tense just slightly beneath her hand. If she hadn’t been touching him, she doubted she would have sensed any reaction at all. She allowed herself a small smile at his self-containment. Didn’t he realize that it just enticed others – James, Sirius, and now her – to try to break it?
“I suppose I’m a pragmatist,” he breathed. He subtly tried to pull his arm from her grip, but she tightened it, pulling him even closer to her as she did. The black of their robes mingled.
“A pragmatist? You prefer to deal in realities? No madness or ideologies or dreams of power for you?,” she pressed even closer, playing the sudden tension between them, marveling at her own bent towards sadism. Above her, the crow cawed in approval, “Poor Severus. You never dreamed I would return. The thought never entered your reality. My presence, it must be torment for you, pragmatist that you are.”
She stepped away then, letting the tension snap. His eyes flashed; he looked like he’d been knifed in the gut. She reached for the door, a satisfied smile slipping across her face because she’d got to him. This time it was his hand that stopped her.
“And you, Lily?” She glanced at his hand on her arm, then up into the blackness of his eyes. Already they were shuttered again. She could have easily twisted away from his grip, turned away from his question, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“We already discussed this,” she replied steadily, “I’m a monster.”
“No, Lily. You’re not. You don’t have to be.”
“No…,” she started to pull away then, but something, some flicker of feeling in his eyes stopped her, compelling her to give him a more honest answer than she’d intended, “No. but I have a monster inside me. Very close to the surface. Who must be fed if I’m ever to return to my rest. That’s all that matters.”
She opened the door, letting them in to the building that would house Voldemort’s victory celebration.
And his defeat.
Rating: NC17 (eventually)
Fandom: Harry Potter/Crow Crossover
Summary:Six months after Voldemort's victory and the Fall of Harry Potter, an angry spirit rises from the grave to wreak bloody vengeance.
Spoilers: HBP and the Crow mythology
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the mythology. Just my sick imagination.
Archive: At Twisting the Hellmouth and Crossoverfic. If you want it, check with me first.
A/N:Thanks to Selenya,who helped me conceive this bunny. On the night before her wedding, noless. Let’s hear it for dedicated Goff Grrls!
Chapter 7 – Rain Forever
“What’s this?”
Lily glanced up at Severus’ question as she adjusted one of his Death Eater cloaks around her shoulders. She had been only mildly surprised to find he had several. Apparently, blood-drenched cloaks were a hazard when one was a Death Eater. Underneath the cloak she was wearing another of Walburga’s ensembles, this one in severe black gabardine and worsted. The old woman’s hatred and prejudice seethed at the edges of Lily’s senses.
She stilled as Severus lifted a hand and with a finger gently traced the black slashes she’d drawn across her cheeks. She knew from her time before the cracked mirror upstairs that with her pale skin and black-smudged eyes they gave her the look of a mad-grinning clown. Her lips widened in a smile that held no humor.
“A reminder, Severus. Every wound should leave a scar. It’s what makes us human.”
She could feel the panic rising to the surface as she contemplated what she’d done after Avery had given her those wounds, as she contemplated what she was called to do this night. Severus blinked at her words, but his cold black eyes remained shuttered and distant. She wondered how long ago he’d abandoned his humanity. If she stayed her course, would she end up like him? A gloomy, black crow living in the past, gazing sullenly out at the world from behind his loneliness, yet cawing his dissatisfaction whenever anyone dared to disturb his solitude?
“You’re human, Lily—”
“Not now, Severus.” She marveled at the improbability of comfort coming from him. His finger was still tracing her cheek. She shook it away, “Later…you can make your attempts to comfort and reassure me later,” her black-feathered guide landed on the porch railing. She smiled humorlessly as Severus jerked away from the bird, “Let’s go. We have work to do.”
The crow launched itself into the air, soaring through the gloaming while the darkening landscape of London spread out under it like a grimy topographical map. Down below, their black-cloaked forms moved through the rain-slicked streets. The gloomy drizzle that had started in the early hours had not let up. It darkened pavement and stone in shades of gray, draining color and life from the city.
With a strange, layered vision Lily could see the crow’s perspective of mapped streets overlaying her own view of the twisting warrens. It was dizzying and seductive. The distant, alien view of the crow let her leave her own body, her own thoughts, her own pain and fear and guilt, and the flashes of emotions and memories that she pulled from everything she touched. When she soared free, the trace remnants of bloodsmell, the recollection of Nott’s wordless howls and Avery’s choked begging, the feel of Severus’ wary gaze boring into her, all were left behind. When she gave herself up to that other vision, that other layer of perception, she was able to ignore the pangs of empathy and compassion. It gave her the detachment necessary to do what she had to do.
And it horrified her.
Pulling back from the soaring abyss of the presence above, she stopped momentarily, leaning against a nearby wall for support. Severus stopped beside her, tentatively placing one hand on her arm in concern.
“Lily…”
“I’m fine.” She struggled away from his concern, even as she focused on his voice, his touch, to anchor her to her body, to the shadowed alley, and to the enormity of what she was about to do. She shook her head and continued walking; Severus fell in at her side.
“Tell me about them,” she instructed him.
“Sorry?” She didn’t turn, but his confusion was evident from his tone.
“The others. Voldemort’s supporters. Why do they follow? What is it about them that allows them to do these…things.” She knew already, somehow. Asking him was pointless. She knew because the crow knew. Yet she wanted…needed to know some other way. When he remained silent, she filled the space between them with words, “Vengeance is a horrid thing, Severus, unless it can be leant meaning through metaphor and irony. Nott was a hedonist, so he was consumed by the flames of his own pleasure pursuits. Avery was a sadist who tasted the steel of his own blades. But what of the others?”
She sensed his hesitation, as he processed the implication that what he told her would inform how she killed them – his colleagues, his friends. She wondered if he was aware how twisted and shadowed his loyalties had become. Or perhaps, she conceded, they’d always been this ambiguous. She couldn’t be sure; the Severus Snape she’d known hadn’t had friends. He’d kept everyone at a distance with sullen looks and an acidic tongue. He’d always given the impression of being emotionally unassailable. Affectless.
It was what had drawn James and Sirius to torment him so brutally, that challenge Severus offered. It was what drew her to him now, for different reasons. His quiet presence was a more comforting refuge than the soaring abyss that cawed above her and called her to vengeance. She understood what he wanted from her, even as she knew he would never impose that wanting on her. And when she let her mind flicker over possibilities, it didn’t fill her with revulsion the way the thought of killing did.
“Crabbe and Goyle.” His rich voice broke the silence that had stretched between them. It took her a moment to realize that it was in response to her question. Apparently, Severus had decided to rest his loyalties with her. His tone was thick with sneering, “They’re interchangeable. Too much inbreeding, perhaps. They’re bullies, simple and straightforward. They like having power and they like wielding it. If they were more intelligent, they’d be Voldemort’s most trusted lieutenants because their ambitions are so simple and easily fed. But I suppose if they were more intelligent, they wouldn’t be so simple.”
He fell silent as they passed a few muggles, homeless and huddled in the alleyway they were traversing. Human trash. She felt a twinge of guilt, all her own. She hadn’t even noticed them until he did.
“Bellatrix,” he continued once they’d left the shivering forms behind, “she’s insane. She’s more Voldemort’s toy than a serious lieutenant. Fanatically loyal, but completely unpredictable. Lucius is entirely the opposite. If you understand his motivations he’s completely predictable and not the least bit loyal.”
“And what are his motivations?” Severus had stopped before a door in the alley. She stopped at his side so that he had to hunch over her to answer her question.
“He’s an ideologue. He believes his own rhetoric. Utterly. Superiority of the Purebloods, separation from the Muggle world. He follows Voldemort because he’s convinced himself that a megalomaniacal half-blood is the way to achieve it. He’s so stubbornly convinced in the rightness of his own beliefs, one could almost mistake him for a Gryffindor.”
“Pettigrew,” he snorted dismissively, “Pettigrew wants power, but he’s too much a coward to try to take it for himself. He’s willing to bend and scrape and lurk in the shadows, feeding off the scraps he’s offered. He’s the perfect sycophant.”
He lapsed into silence, then reached for the door handle. She grasped his arm, staying him. She wasn’t finished with him yet.
“And you?” she asked.
She felt his arm tense just slightly beneath her hand. If she hadn’t been touching him, she doubted she would have sensed any reaction at all. She allowed herself a small smile at his self-containment. Didn’t he realize that it just enticed others – James, Sirius, and now her – to try to break it?
“I suppose I’m a pragmatist,” he breathed. He subtly tried to pull his arm from her grip, but she tightened it, pulling him even closer to her as she did. The black of their robes mingled.
“A pragmatist? You prefer to deal in realities? No madness or ideologies or dreams of power for you?,” she pressed even closer, playing the sudden tension between them, marveling at her own bent towards sadism. Above her, the crow cawed in approval, “Poor Severus. You never dreamed I would return. The thought never entered your reality. My presence, it must be torment for you, pragmatist that you are.”
She stepped away then, letting the tension snap. His eyes flashed; he looked like he’d been knifed in the gut. She reached for the door, a satisfied smile slipping across her face because she’d got to him. This time it was his hand that stopped her.
“And you, Lily?” She glanced at his hand on her arm, then up into the blackness of his eyes. Already they were shuttered again. She could have easily twisted away from his grip, turned away from his question, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“We already discussed this,” she replied steadily, “I’m a monster.”
“No, Lily. You’re not. You don’t have to be.”
“No…,” she started to pull away then, but something, some flicker of feeling in his eyes stopped her, compelling her to give him a more honest answer than she’d intended, “No. but I have a monster inside me. Very close to the surface. Who must be fed if I’m ever to return to my rest. That’s all that matters.”
She opened the door, letting them in to the building that would house Voldemort’s victory celebration.
And his defeat.
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Date: 2007-02-01 05:11 am (UTC)He's so hot. <3
recced by a friend
Date: 2007-06-02 07:20 pm (UTC)And now I'm really, really excited that you're in the Doctor/Rose ficathon *G* Can't wait to see your fic :) I'll have to skip off now & see if you've written any Who fic already.