The Revenant, Chapter 11
by Geri ([email protected])
My homepage: http://www.geocities.com/geri_chans_fics/index.html
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts
Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except for Hob, who belongs to
William Mayne, and Death, who belongs to Neil Gaiman; no money is being made off
this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Warning: AU; events that occurred at the end of Order of the Phoenix were
significantly altered from the book.
Sequel to: Always, Summer Vacation, For Old Time's Sake, Three's a Crowd, Return
of the Raven, Phoenix Reborn, Phoenix Rising, and Aftermaths.
Summary: Dylan's escape attempt does not go well, and awakens the darker side of
the Revenant.
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Chapter 11: The Taste of Blood
After pacing around nervously and carrying on a one-sided (at least from Dylan's
point of view) argument with Rabastan, James finally left the Shrieking Shack to
deliver a message to Snape and Remus. Left alone, Dylan struggled desperately
with his bonds, but the knots refused to loosen and he succeeded only in chafing
his wrists. Dylan tried reciting charms to loosen the ropes that bound him, but
they proved ineffective without his wand. He cursed under breath, wishing that
he had the ability to work wandless magic like the Japanese shapeshifters...and
then he cursed himself again for being an idiot. There was one type of wandless
magic that most wizards could work--Apparition! It didn't require a wand or an
incantation, simply focus and concentration. And the spell instantaneously moved
the caster from one spot to another, so it shouldn't matter that he was
bound--at least Dylan hoped not. He closed his eyes and concentrated very hard,
picturing Remus's cottage in his mind, imagining it down to the smallest detail,
from the faded, peeling paint on the walls to the threadbare upholstery on the
couch. With all his might, he willed himself to move from "here" to
"there"...but nothing happened. No cracking sound, no sudden stomach-wrenching
feeling of disorientation, nothing. Disappointed, Dylan opened his eyes to find
himself still inside the Shrieking Shack. He tried several more times to
Disapparate, but his efforts were futile. Either he couldn't work the spell
while bound, or it was too far a distance for him to Apparate, or more likely,
the wards James had cast were preventing it.
If he was to escape, it would have to be by more mundane means. Dylan searched
among the debris on the floor and found a piece of glass that had probably come
from one of the broken windows, which had since been boarded up. Clutching it
awkwardly with his fingers, he attempted to saw at the ropes binding his wrists,
which was a rather difficult process, not just because his movement was limited
but because he couldn't see what he was doing with his hands bound behind his
back. He sawed away for several minutes, and perhaps he would have been able to
cut through normal ropes, but the magical bindings seemed impervious, and the
only things that Dylan managed to cut were his wrists and fingers when the glass
shard slipped in his hands. It became harder to clutch the glass firmly as his
fingers grew slippery with blood, and he wondered if he could use that to his
advantage, to use the blood as lubrication to slip his wrists free of the ropes.
It was worth a try, he decided, and he gave up trying to cut the ropes. Instead
he dug the piece of glass deeply into his wrist, and was rewarded with a slow
stream of warm blood. Encouraged, Dylan dropped the piece of glass and began
struggling with his bonds again. Was it just his imagination, or did the ropes
give just the slightest bit, the slickness of the blood causing the ropes to
slide down his wrists more easily?
But then hope turned to despair as James walked into the room. His eyes widened
in alarm as he caught sight of Dylan's bloody wrists. "Foolish boy!" he scolded.
"Magical bindings can't be broken by normal means!" He took out his wand and
conjured up some bandages, then knelt down to tend to Dylan's wounds. "You
didn't have to do this; I told you that I would free you after they brought
Harry to me, didn't I? A Gryffindor always keeps his word."
"It's not that I doubt your word, Mr. Potter," Dylan lied. "But Remus and the
Professor must be worried about me. It's my duty to free myself and get back to
them if I can."
"You'll be back with them soon enough," James said gruffly. "So don't do
anything stupid. Moony is so softhearted that I'm sure he'd cry if anything
happened to you." His voice turned bitter and resentful. "And then he'd really
never forgive me."
"Mr. Potter..." Dylan said hesitantly, wanting to reason with James, yet afraid
that he might provoke the man further. From an early age, he had learned to hide
his true feelings and present a smiling, serene face to the world. With his
father dead and his mother disowned and disgraced, Dylan had been left with
little to rely on but his looks and his charm, but he had used them to full
advantage. He had been proud of his ability to charm and manipulate people, but
James seemed to be immune to it. That was not really surprising, Dylan supposed,
since whenever James looked at him he must see his old enemy Evan Rosier, but it
made things more difficult.
"At least the cuts seem to be shallow..." James started to say, then his voice
trailed off.
"Mr. Potter?" Dylan asked, twisting around slightly so he could look at James.
Harry's father was staring in fascination at Dylan's bloody wrists, and his
tongue darted out to lick his lips as a flash of red gleamed in his hazel eyes
for just a moment. Dylan didn't know a great deal about Necromancy, but he knew
that undead spirits were often summoned into this world with blood, and some of
them required fresh doses of it at regular intervals to maintain their
artificial life. Most spirits could not help but hunger at the sight of blood,
because it was a symbol of the life that they craved for, which had been denied
to them. As if in a trance, James slowly lowered his mouth and licked at the
blood covering Dylan's wrists.
Dylan cried out in fear and pulled away from James, who stared at him blankly
for a moment, then seemed to snap out of his trance, a look of horror filling
his eyes as he realized what he had done.
James grabbed Dylan's arm and roughly hauled him to his feet. "Come on," he
snapped. "You're about to get your wish--you're going to be reunited with Moony
and his precious Potions Master."
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James grabbed Dylan and hauled him to his feet, a bit more roughly than he'd
intended, the taste of the blood in his mouth causing his heart to pound in
fear--no, not so much the blood itself, but the craving that it had awakened in
him. James knew the dangers of Dark spells: there was always a hidden cost to
them, and the price for raising the dead was usually paid in blood. Blood to
resurrect a dead body or spirit, and blood to sustain it. Even magic had its
limits; sorcery could not be used to create new life, but it could be used to
steal the life-force of one person and give it to another. That was the same
principle behind the Blood Healing spell that Snape had used to save Sirius, the
same principle behind all forms of Blood Magic, as a matter of fact. It was the
same type of magic that Voldemort had used to increase his power to the point
where he was able to cheat death--at least temporarily. James suddenly
remembered Death's kind but implacable eyes; no one could cheat Death or evade
her grasp forever.
Even though James now possessed a relatively young and healthy body, it was not
really his, and although he was not familiar with the type of Necromancy that
Rabastan had used to summon him, he instinctively realized that he was living on
borrowed time and that his hold over Rabastan would eventually weaken unless he
did something to strengthen it. And just as instinctively, he knew what he
needed to sustain his borrowed life. He could still taste Dylan's blood in his
mouth, sweet and salty, full of the essence of youth and vitality. Dylan was
young and passionate, and a powerful wizard to boot; his blood could sustain
James for a very long time...
James had a sudden vision of the boy lying on the floor, his throat cut and his
silver-gray eyes staring up at the ceiling, lifeless and unseeing. And suddenly
James dropped to his knees and vomited, his stomach churning with revulsion not
just at the vision, but at the part of him that was filled with hunger and
excitement by it.
"Mi...Mister Potter?" Dylan asked nervously. "Are you all right?"
{Intoxicating, isn't it?} Rabastan taunted silently. {The taste of blood, I
mean. I felt the same way when I made my first kill as a Death Eater. Except
that I wasn't as squeamish as you are, Potter.}
"Oh, shut up!" James snarled, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"I'm sorry," Dylan said, flinching.
"I wasn't talking to you!" James shouted, and the boy flinched again. "Oh, never
mind! Let's go!"
As James grabbed Dylan's arm, Rabastan protested, {This is suicide, Potter! Do
you really think that Snape is going to show up without any backup? Do you
really think that he'll just roll over for you like a tame dog?}
"What do you care?" James snapped. "Don't you want your old buddy Snape to
defeat me?"
{I want you out of my head, but I don't want to get killed in the process!}
Rabastan wailed.
James laughed, his voice cold and filled with malice, and although he didn't
realize it, his eyes gleamed red again. "Of course I expect treachery from a
Slytherin snake! But let him do his worst...I'm stronger than I used to be." He
laughed again. "And I do have one distinct advantage over him: I am not afraid
to die because I am already dead! Everything and everyone I loved was taken from
me--I have nothing left to lose!"
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dylan knew that a man who had nothing left to lose was very dangerous indeed.
And staring into James Potter's reddened, maddened eyes, he was suddenly very
afraid--not so much for himself, but for Professor Snape. The sane James Potter
that Remus had known would not kill a man in cold blood, not even a former Death
Eater, but the vengeful spirit standing before him might. If Snape didn't bring
Harry to him as promised, Dylan had no doubt that James would try to kill him.
And even if he did bring Harry, James was so crazed with anger that he might
attack him anyway. Hogwarts taught that Dark Magic was forbidden, not just
because the spells inflicted harm and pain, but because its very essence twisted
and corrupted the person who cast them. Dylan had not believed it; his mother
had taught him that Dark Magic was simply a tool to be used for his own gain,
but now he began to wonder if she had been wrong. He could see the darkness
growing and spreading inside James, and he began to struggle with his captor. As
long as James held him hostage, Snape would have to hold back, and that might
well end up getting him killed. Dylan would rather die than be responsible for
the death of the man who had been a father to him in all but name.
"What are you doing?" James cried as Dylan struggled to pull out of his grasp.
"I'm taking you to Snape; I thought that's what you wanted!"
"I won't let you kill my father!" Dylan screamed.
"What are you talking about, you crazy brat?" James shouted, finding it
difficult to hold onto the struggling boy even though his limbs were bound.
"Your father's already dead, and I'm not the one who killed him!"
"I meant the Professor!" Dylan shouted, and bit down hard when James's arm got
within reach of his mouth.
James cried out in pain and shoved Dylan away from him; Dylan fell to the floor,
but kicked out with his legs, causing James to stumble.
"Enough of this!" James snarled, and whipped out his wand. "Imperio!"
Paralyzed by the spell, Dylan was unable to do anything except stare up at James
helplessly, his gray eyes filled with frustration and anger. This was now the
second time that James had used an Unforgivable Curse on him. "You aren't the
man that Remus knew," he whispered contemptuously.
"Shut up!" James said, and Dylan found himself unable to speak, although his
eyes conveyed his scorn quite eloquently. "Get up," James said, and against his
will, Dylan felt his body trying to obey although it was difficult with his
limbs bound. James impatiently gestured with his wand, and the ropes binding
Dylan's legs vanished. Dylan rose to his feet as James helped pull him up by his
arm. "Come with me," James said curtly, and Dylan followed obediently, even as
his mind was screaming in protest; he was beginning to understand how Rabastan
must feel.
For just a moment, a frightened and despairing Rabastan seemed to look out
through James's eyes, and Dylan gave him an accusing look, thinking, {This is
all your fault!}
Rabastan seemed to understand his unspoken words, because he just gave Dylan a
miserable look that said, {I know.}
And then Rabastan's presence vanished, and James said impatiently, "Come along,
Dylan; I thought you were eager to be reunited with your 'father'."
{I'm sorry, Professor,} Dylan said silently as he followed James.