Chapter Text
"Do not waste your youth, my boy. Trust me, this will be good for you."
"Life is for living, my boy. You won't learn nearly as much from the library. "
"How better to keep you out of trouble, my boy? Not to mention, you've earned it! So very bright you are, son."
Severus Snape wishes for nothing more than to wrap his trembling fingers around the old fool's neck so tight they can only squeeze and not shake.
The cabin is jerking and vibrating. Lights flicking on overhead contraptions. Fasten seat belts, something, radio signal going out, light-lights, something red and eerie, another announcing that oxygen masks have been deployed. The strobing flashes blinding Snape as he struggles to breathe into the bag at his face. The lightning doesn't help either. It flares aggressively outside the little windows of the small passenger plane. Both unexpected and unrelenting, the storm ragdolls her. She's only built to comfortably hold about twenty, so she isn't big enough to hold her own or be swept away completely. Instead she fights, poorly at that.
People are screaming all around him. Their faces temporarily lit up by the stobes and lightning. Snape clamps his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see them. They still burn into the darkness of his closed lids. About twenty screaming, crying, unconscious teen boys. Many still in uniform. He hears an adult's voice try to rise above the rest, but he's at the front of the plane and gets drowned out with another stomach dropping shutter. The whole plane falls for a moment, Snape feeling himself leave the seat and strain against the belt. Then she's turning and catching an aggressive gust. She rights herself enough for more passengers to loose consciousness. The blood bouncing around from their heads to their feet in milliseconds. Snape doesn't know how he's still awake. Maybe he's just used to adrenaline.
Static pops loudly overhead. The captain must be trying to say something. It cuts in and out, alarms accompanying it. Snape strains to hear over the crying. His own panic ringing as loud as the shuttering of the planes plummeting body.
".....tr..st......in......May....God...apologies.....br....or..impa-......brace. ....-brace-fo-r imp-ct!" Snape realizes what he's saying as he repeats one last time. His head going between his knees, one of the few able to follow the order. "May God have mercy! Brace for impact!"
He, and everyone else still conscious, scream as the world goes black.
Snape wakes an instant later to water rushing at his feet. His head is hazy, and he can feel blood dripping down. Snape rips the bag away from his face, fingers touching at the blood. Fresh and heavy. He drops them to dig into the warn leather of the seat. His spine feels broken, his body arching unnaturally to relieve a pressure he can't fully feel let alone understand. Water is at his ankles. Bodies are struggling and moving. Bodies are limp, some floating in the aisles.
Snape can't hear the screaming anymore, instead there's yelling and the groaning of metal.
Snape turns to his window, a sizeable crack spidering out from the center. His fingers grope at the side of his head, briefly focused on the image of his head splitting on impact if he hadn't braced and assumably softened the blow. Then he's looking behind the crack. Endless, dark, and haunting, the ocean waits behind the window. The plane tipped up and on her side, leaving Snape's window facing the openness of the sea. He sucks in a breathe, his heart lurching.
Snape looks around. The water sloshing up just below his knees now. He gasps roughly. The water cold and black as night. Beside him his seatmate is unmoving. He forces himself not to look, worrying the fear would freeze him in place. Snape goes for his buckle. With the tail pointed down, Snape finds the pressure locking his buckle in a weird way. He struggles with it, the latch refusing to give. It clicks again and again as Snape pushes the clasp with growing panic. Sloshing steps hurry up the plane, turning to the thumping of running as shadowy figures rush up to the unsubmurged exit. Snape wants to scream for help, but they are already busting the emergency exit open and the plane is shifting down deeper in response. The haze leaves him as another dump of adrenaline forces him into action. Snape tugs harder at his belt, hands frantically trying to tear it away from his trapped body.
The water licks over his lap.
Snape sucks in another gasp. His lungs rabbiting along with his heart, the three of them bullying each other into restarting everything as Snape's brain slows and vision wavers. The body-panic brings a strange clarity. He loosens the belt. He's able to slip out. Then he's pulling up his long, sopping legs and standing on the seat. He steps out of the seat belt, throwing it down with a wet and agonized growl. He breathes harshly, once again arching in pain and having to bite it down. His spine is ablaze.
The water is covering all the seats in the tail section. It laps at the backrests.
Snape tries his hardest not to look at his- fuck- bent neck seatmate as he steps over him. Snape can't even take a moment to put a name to his lifeless face as he scrambles around him and slips into the sinking aisle. He's crawling on all fours, pushing a limp body away, until he's able to stand and hurry up towards the exit. Wind whipping in and freezing Snape's now soaked shirt. He barley even spares the rest of the plane a glance before he's scrambling out. He sees a lot of open eyes, it's nearly impossible to make out the intelligent ones. He might see some people sluggishly moving, he doesn't wait- he can't help.
The plane is shifting down again, water now trickling in from the emergency exit at the head. Several windows break under the pressure. The ocean shoving its way into the tail end, flooding over half the plane in seconds.
Snape throws himself out the door and into the sea. The stormy, black sky above laughing at him with another roll of thunder.
Salt stings at every part of him, ice all but becoming his body and blood. His limbs move on instinct. His body allowing itself to be selectively taken by the stormy waves. He's forced under numerous times. Snape works his arms, kicks his legs. He hears other voices screaming over the crashing waves. He hears 'land!' amongst all the screeched nonsense. He heads to were he hopes the voices are.
It feels like it takes hours. His body and mind at war, both in their own turn begging the other to give up. Snape hates the feeling. His spirit wondering if this is it. If this is how he dies. The water screaming in his ear that it is. The strong waves showing him how helpless he is. His heart refusing to stop pumping icy blood through him. He fights. He fights and swims, swims and fights.
His cheek hits soft sand. His body slumps with so much weight that he feels he can never move again. His brain quiets down to absolutely silence, a state it has never known before. Snape sleeps.
×××
Heat.
Red heat.
Red-hot heat, just behind Snape's eyelids.
Then a breeze over his back.
He groans. A weak and mindless sound. As the noise leaves him, a deep body ache arrives. His very cells waking up to the memories from the night before, making his muscles spasm and agonize. He groans again, louder and weaker. It's more of an exhale. Sand clings to his lip. He purses them absent-mindedly. His eyes roll behind his lids, trying to escape the heat on the side of his face. He turns, sand rubbing and making him aware that he's covered in it. He's covered in salt too, a warm sting beneath the sand, mingling with the ache. It makes his eyes warm and water despite his lids remaining shut. The salt clinging to his eyelashes.
Snape suddenly gasps, and then coughs. His eyes twitch open and meet the blinding glare of sand and sun. He gasps several times more. The sight of a sandy beach surrounding him doesn't go away, even after he's blinked thrice. A monster of a head ache rearing its unwelcome self and beginning to pound behind his skull. He makes a weak sound of pain, hands shakily reaching for his young, narrow face. The sand brushes away easy enough under a delicate touch. He rubs a little harder, attempting to sooth the muscles that must be aching from the expressions of terror he was making.
Snape allows himself to remember what happened.
It was a normal flight. A normal, routine flight. The pilots were experienced and the plane seemed perfectly normal. It left at the designated time, the first half of the flight perfectly normal as well. Just a small passenger plane transporting Hogwarts students to their tri-yearly trip to Durmstrang. The two all-boys schools have a fairly good relationship, despite the distance between them. Old history, you could say. One located in Scotland, the other in Australia. It was actually a sought after opportunity, Snape just didn't appreciate it. One of twenty-two students allowed attendance. Fifteen seats for the entirety of the Rugby team, another for their coach. A small handful of staff or parent chaperones. Another seven for some prefects, honors students, and then some special cases like Snape, Pettigrew....and Lupin. Damn. The sickly boy likely broke on impact- Snape pictures his snapped seatmate.
He stands, wavering.
Right- Lupin had probably been brought along not only for his pretty good grades or status as a prefect, but also because the gangly boy was constantly sick. The doctors could never figure it out, so that left the other boy weak and tired all the time. Dumbledore probably felt pretty good about giving him the opportunity, just like he had for Snape. Snape sneers behind his shaking hands.
Snape was a 'special' special case. Though he had the best grades, probably out of any year, he was a 'discipline case'. No matter the day, the time, the anything of it really, he was getting in trouble. 'Miss miss! Snivellus said [this]!' Or 'McGonagall! McGonagall! You won't believe it! Snape did [that]!' Or 'Sir, we must discuss what is to be done about young mister Snape. He's simply [whatever, before the door shut on his nose].' Really, Snape just tried to keep to himself. But smart and tortured are a bad mix. Trouble always seemed to find him.
He thinks back to the crash.
The routine flight had started to turn less routine on the back half. Snape had been stewing in his seat, nervous and uncomfortable both as his peers struggled to remain in theirs. There was a joyful noise booming within the cramped shell of the plane, caused by the excited Quidditch team. Seven boys all joking and pushing and teasing from the front of the plane. Then some adults in the middle. And lastly the 'smart kids' at the tail. Well, the 'smart kids' and Pettigrew.
From the first sight of him Snape knew he wasn't supposed to be there. The freckled boy glancing around nervously. He tugged at Potter's coattails, questioning. The adults all nodding him along. 'Yes, mister Pettigrew, we've made room for you.' Snape sums it up to rich-Potter, precious-Black and sickly-Lupin getting their usual special treatment. Snape can't help but chuckle. What good special treatment did them now. But then he realizes how inappropriate that is, and shakes the thought away. Chalking it up to shock. Sure, he's had bad thoughts about that little group. Violent thoughts even. But they are all dead, probably, and Snape knows it must have been horrible.
Anyways, Pettigrew had stood to use the loo at the front of the plane. Squeezing past the last two rows and entering the folded doorway before the plane jerked a moment later. The boys had all 'woah'd' looking between themselves with rounded eyes before laughing. Then the plane had jerked again, harder. More laughter, nervous this time. Someone had pointed out the switch in weather. How dark it was getting despite night not being due for a few hours. The adults had been nervous too, Snape realizes in hindsight, but they'd calmed the teenagers easily enough. Leaving fourteen teenage boys perfectly seated when all hell broke loose.
The weather shifting even more dramatically. The nervous energy popping like a bubble. The fear. The violence of it. The screaming. The air bags dropping. The absolute terror. Then the crash and the swim.
It had been dark as night.
Snape turns his massaging hands, making them a visor before looking up. He narrows his gaze, looking towards the sun. It's positioned just about straight overhead. Christ- Snape isn't sure how long he was out. Overnight at least, and around noon the following day. But it hadn't even been dark before the storm. He shakes it away. At least now he knows he doesn't have a concussion, he'd be dead.
He decides to survey his surroundings before his body. He's scared what the damage will be.
The island appears to be just that, an island. He surveys the beach, taking in the sandy shore and harsh rocks surrounding it. A wide half circle forming with a mouth opening out into the ocean, while rocks block most everything else off. He can see the plane wreck as a small point at the end of his vision. Only the cockpit sticks out of the water. Snape looks away. His little cove at a decline, with more of the island up a small hill. Trees lining the edges. From what he can see, the island is a vegetative place. He sifts his brain, searching for a connection to something he knows. Some idea of the type of place he may possibly be.
Snape looks to his body next. His clothes- or uniform rather- are practically tanned, salty and stiff. He stretches one leg and then the other, bending and feeling for any damage. Just sore. Then his arms. Sore too, but luckily no breaks. He lifts his shirt to eye his torso. Just some intense bruising where the seat belt held him in place. Maybe a bruised rib or two, based off the pain when he hugs himself a bit. Lastly he feels his head, tensing immediately. His fingers touch tacky and spiked hair. Sand clinging to mats of dried blood near his hairline. He can feel a trail of dried blood just missing his left eye and congealing at his chin. It's probably a good paintbrush strokes worth.
All in all, he's not in the worst shape. The sunburn he's gained on the back of his neck almost hurts the most. And all of his classmate are probably dead, so yeah, he's in good shape considering. He swallows as he glances back at the sunken plane in the distance. What the fuck is he supposed to do? He remembers the sounds of others escaping. If they are still alive, certainly finding them would be his best bet.
Snape turns away from the crash site. He instead begins, well, crawling up the wall of his little cove. He claws at the sand as it shifts to dry grass, which he too digs his fingers into and tugs himself up. His limbs still scream at him for working them so hard, but Snape ignores it with a grit of his teeth. This is a bad situation to be in, he needs to figure out all he can as soon as he can. In all likelihood, he isn't promised to survive through the night. He's stranded now. Fuck, he's stranded. The reality sinks in as he crests the steep little hill. He's lost on some island. Maybe it's populated, maybe humans haven't been here for centuries or ever, he has no way to know for sure yet.
Like The Azores? Possibly. Snape thinks as he looks around on higher ground. No, too tropical in nature. Besides, they were flying over the indian ocean. Though the cooler air from that night could sway him. This island looks similar to what he believes The Christmas Islands to be. He feels its too optimistic to think, but as far as islands go, one like those wouldn't be the worst. Tropical weather isn't easy on a British teen, but a tropical island would have more food to offer. Heat and sun could cook him, but the nights wouldn't be quite so cold. Regardless, it's still the wild, Snape reminds himself. Bad things happen in the wild.
Snape mentally shelves the pros and cons. He looks right then left, searching for signs of other people. He doesn't see any glaringly ones until- there!
He moves down the beach, away from the cove he washed up on. Heading closer to the crash site, or as much as he can from land, he sees something half buried in the wet sand. A suitcase. Snape kneels before it, brushing the sand away and dragging it out of the lazily lapping waves. His thumb brushes over a water stained name tag. The ink seeping away from the indents of the pen that scrawled it. He can't make out what it used to say. To be honest he's just thankful it's here at all, his condolences to its owner. He's sure most of the luggage must have sunk down with the plane. Or is at least trapped under the water in a flooded luggage compartment.
The suitcase opens with a squeak. It's stuffed with clothes for a boy built broader than him. Shirts, trousers, socks, etc. Snape also finds a ruined book and a magnifying glass on a golden necklace chain. Once he's done looking, Snape places it all back and hides the case at the treeline. High enough that the waves won't reach it, ready for when he's able to come back for it. He keeps going in the same direction. The island seems to have a strong curve to it. He assumes that means it is either a smaller island, or that has on a little peninsula off of it.
As he keeps moving, he begins to hear something. Snape pauses, training his ears on the noise. At first he has trouble making it out over the waves and breeze, but he grows hopeful when it begins to sound like voices. Snape moves faster, practically limping on his aching legs as he hurries around the long curve of the island.
The voices get clearer. One louder than the others. He hobbles faster.
"Hello? Hello-!" He begins to announce himself, then the voice becomes clearer.
"I told you, I don't know! It's been years!" The voice rings out over the waves. Snape stops abruptly. He knows that voice. "I had it, and then I lost it! Whatever, it's not going to get dark for awhile. We'll be fine, I'll remember. Just give me a second to breathe, fuck..."
Sirius Black
"Hush up! Did you hear that?"
James Potter
Snape feels himself gulp around a scratchy lump in his throat. A twist of feelings in his guts. He finds himself slinking closer to the treeline. His heart hammers at the sound of human voices. The animal part of his brain urging him to join those alike to him. Community and familiarity. But the rest of him, everything that is Severus Snape, freezes. Of course. Of course it would be them. His fingers grip tightly to the bark of the tree beside him.
"Is someone there? Come here! We're over here!"
Remus Lupin
Snape can picture the group. He had been pushing them out of his mind since they were probably dead and he was afraid bad thoughts would come to mind if he thought about that for too long. He didn't want to think bad things about the dead. Only they aren't dead, and now he's thinking bad thoughts featuring himself. He can quite easily picture the group.
Black, with his shirt untucked and his shaggy brown-black hair curling in that unruly way that everyone cooed over. His sleeves rolled up over his forearms, unfairly big for a sixteen year old, those arms crossed over his chest. And his lips pulled back into that dangerous, toothy smirk he always greets Snape with. He's got a heart shaped face, with cheeks retaining the only baby fat left on him. Rounded and rosy, the only take away from his otherwise sharp and masculine features. Eyes grey and containing a hunters intelligence. The Sirius Black in his mind appearing taller than even the real one is.
Potter, with a similar build and short, dark brown locks and much tanner skin. His glasses glinting over his own hazel, mirthful eyes. He's gotten taller over the last couple years, but still a touch shorter than Black. He holds himself in a slack way when off the field that leaves them twins in Snape's mind. His face has grown into the more proper young man that was always underneath the snot nosed punk of their youth. His cheeks loosing the roundness, leaving his face narrow and clean. He looks like his father, people say. Potter the scamp becoming The Potter's heir.
Lupin, with his unused height and sandy, ruffled hair. He shot up more than just about anyone in their year. His limbs gangly and his back often bent to appear shorter, it annoys Snape to see. His eyes are tired and a bright brown, never holding anything malicious, but that annoys Snape too. He always looks like a sad donkey. That's what Snape always thinks. Some tall equine beast that frowns and trots after it's leads. He's unfortunately grown handsome as well. His features remaining softer than the other two, but fitting him in a way that is painfully friendly and gentle. Intriguing and welcoming (despite the sparse mustache hairs), and all together useless. His eyes unrelenting as they pinch and agonize and do nothing to stop it, not even his own part in it, not even averting his gaze.
Even Pettigrew was growing into a fine young man. Still portly and the shortest of the group, but his arms held muscle underneath. He looked more like a man now than a chubby little mama's boy. Snape would guess his changes had more to do with influence than what's natural to him.
Snape has loathed all of them for years.
Only two months ago, they gave Snape a special gift- The worst day of his life. Special because it's something his parents had attempted many times, but never were able to match the cruelty of the Marauders. His parents could hit, spit, starve, neglect, beat, scream at, or otherwise harm all they wanted, but it was always in private. Snape could handle the worst of it in private. He felt safe behind the walls of his childhood home, unseen and unheard. No humiliation. Humiliation was something none of them had the stomach for. Not with his father's angry paranoia or his mother's nervousness, and concerns over social image. But the Marauders seemed to hunger for humiliation exclusively. Snape couldn't do humiliation. Hearing their voices alone, he feels his skin crawl. He feels their searing eyes on his skin, beneath his clothes. He feels judged under eyes that he knows he is beneath.
And it had been the helplessness, more than the cruelty. Feeling hands pin him down. Black shoving his shoulders hard into the grass, Snape struggling under him with all his might and it not making any difference. Potter having no trouble holding, bending, and stripping his legs. Both boys laughing heartily at the ease of it. 'That all you got, Snivellus?' Pettigrew's voice joins in, with his own hands taking hold of Snape's struggling legs so that Potter can go for his dress shirt buttons. Black laughs harder as Potter chuckles and struggles with the buttons.
'Ay, come on, Snivellus. We're all boys here- or is that what worries you?' Potter smirked with clear disgust. His fingers finally loosening the first couple buttons around his throat. Snape fights harder, temporarily able to dissuade Potter's fingertips.
'Get the hell off of me!' He had screamed, squirming on the grass.
He tried to scratch at Potter with blunt, bitten finger nails. But Black snatched his wrists in time. Strong fingers curling around his boney, thin wrists. Black pins him again, leaning into view and blocking out the sun. 'Watch it, Snivellus. We're just having a little fun, wouldn't want to hurt anyone. Now would we?' Snape knows a threat when he hears one. He doesn't care. His trousers are falling down his thighs, his shirt is tugged and partially unbuttoned, and he's realizing he's having a harder and harder time keeping up the strength to fight.
Snape rolls his wrists in Black's grasp, struggling and worming and squirming to try and get out. He feels Black's fingernails click together as he's able to slip and twist one wrist free. He swings it hard at the sun. Punching Black in the side of the head with an improper fist. Then he's pounding at Potter's perfect nose. His legs kicking hard at Pettigrew.
'Get away from me! You sodding beasts!' Snape screams again. His voice breaking under the panic and effort- The fear. It's so different from the fear he feels for his father. Or, however rare, his mother. She regrets him sometimes.
The crowd around them had gasped at that. Laughing with ill surprise and growing anticipation. They knew Snape was in for it now.
'Bastard!' Black had growled, hands slapping and fighting to regain control of Snape. 'You're going to regret that, ya' cunt.' His knees landing on Snape's shoulders. The smaller boy cries out at the weight, hitting Potter again before Black is able to regain control. His knees are on Snape's shoulders, partially propping up his head, and he's crossing Snape's arms over the tops of his thighs. Black restrains him effectively this time, taking the crossed arms in one hand and grabbing a handful of greasy hair. Black tugs hard, twisting his wrist to pull harder without pulling away.
'You got him, mate?' Potter had asked after snorting out a glob of blood. A thin trickling continuing to drip from his perfect nose. Good, Snape prays it's broken. He hopes it'll become crooked like his. Let that be a lesson for the aspiring heir. Potter shreds the buttons from his shirt with a single tug. He rips it down the middle, flinging them out to be lost in the grass.
'Leave me alone!' Snape growls, kicking his legs again. He dislodges Pettigrew's grip just long enough to kick the bigger boy in the throat. He aims another for his face, but it's caught with a wheezing cough. Pettigrew's tougher than he looks, that's for sure. Despite his rosy cheeks and freckled face.
'Why such a fuss, Sniv?' The boy coughs again. 'I'd think you had on ladies knickers or something, with how hard you're fighting.' He tugs at the trousers, only Potter's waist stopping him. His snapped belt and torn zip reveal the beginnings of his old pants. Snape cries out in anger again, his head banging back against Black's folded legs.
'I think you may be right on, Peter. Is that it, Snivy?' Black smirks, despite his lip fatting and eyesocket bruising. 'That's what the rumors say. Little Snivy never changes out in the open because he's got a thing for dressing like a lady. Are you a pretty girl, ay Snivette?' Black's voice grows cruelier as his lip twitches in pain.
The crowd of boys grows rowdier. They laugh louder, point, make their own jokes, watch. Christ, how a lot of them just watch. It's a group of about- well, he can't really tell, but to Snape it feels like the whole school. In memory, the crowd always grows larger and larger. Supplemented by those who had laughed in the halls about it. All claiming to have been there.
'I'm not! I'll-' His anger and fear flares, eyes threatening to mist. He needs anger, not fear. Anger, not fear. He twists unnaturally against the hands on him. His voice catching on tears that are truly held hostage behind his lashes. 'I'll kill you bastards. I swear- I'll- I'll kill you and your bloody friends!' Snape spits out, not even sure which one of them he's saying it to. His chest heaving as Potter and Black relieve him of his shirt with a lift before putting him back were they've been able to control him.
Potter reaching for the half lowered waistband of his trousers next. He strains against Black and Pettigrew's hands. Black tugs him down by his hair. Potter shuffles back towards Pettigrew, the two releasing him in a stilted way that allows Potter to escape and Pettigrew to move out of his way.
'Oh you'll kill us, will you?' Black teases. 'That's not a very nice thing to say. I think Snivellus is in rare form today, boys.'
Potter grips the waistband tighter, preparing. 'I think he'll need to cool off once we're done.' Potter glances at the lake. His smile, disrupting a thin line of gooey blood, widens. 'Unless you can take it back.' Potter pouts a little. 'What do you say, Snivellus. Do you take it back? Maybe you could have a sweet, little apology ready for us?'
Snape seethes, at first refusing to even look at Potter. But then the three boys are pausing, halting the ordeal for him to react. It's a game they love and know he hates. They never let Snape just sit and take it, they wait and squeeze every reaction they can get out of him. Snape slams his skull back against Black's thighs again, then fully turns his head away from Potter. He can't stand the other teen's grinning face. His eyes find Lupin by accident.
Lupin looks pale and green. His lips caught in that sad, disgusted and helpless frown. But he keeps watching. His body relaxed and hands in his pockets. He keeps watching. Actively watching. Those light browns trailing over the scene. The whole scene, not just Snape. He looks at his friends, traces over Snape, focuses on his restrained hands, notices the old bruises and scars. Lupin sees it all, and his lips just frown a little harder. For as much as he looks, he rarely meets Snape's actual gaze.
'I mean it.' Snape bites out, forcing as much anger and poison into the words as he can without allowing the tears to fall. He refuses to lose, to back down. His head turning back to shoot daggers at Potter. 'I hope you and your stupid friends all die.' Then he's searching for something else to throw at them. 'I hope Lupin doesn't make it through his next 'bout' and I hope you watch him die on one of those hospital beds he wallows in.'
The crowd goes silent.
The Marauders go silent.
Snape doesn't stop seething. The tears nearly getting the better of him. Only enough for the two closest to see. A slight glimmer within his deep black irises. Potter and Black lock onto it. The thinnest welling of tears. Then Potter is losing his grin. He twists at the lip.
'Yeah.' Potter sucks on his teeth. His brows furrowing. 'Yeah. You need to cool off.' Then he's forcing the trousers off completely.
Virtually all of him is on display.
Snape is an ugly boy. Short and stunted. Pale and thin. Aggressive features that are still somehow sallow and puffy. Big nosed and mousy. Greasy and unclean. His hair black and pin straight, too long. Bones barely covered by skin in certain spots. He's a wet sock of a boy, everyone can see it. Small for his age, but dressed in clothes old and a little big. He's got cartoonish features crowding his boyish face, making him look harsh and soft. He knows he doesn't look like the Marauders do. They've grown into 'fine young men' he's grown into 'that awful boy' that everyone- even Lily's sister -bristles at. It's like he's branded by some invisible thing, so that everyone even fate can deal him the cards he deserves. His ugly, stunted, harsh cards. Maybe it's his eyes- that invisible branding. Maybe that's what puts people off more than his ugly, disagreeable features. He's got deep, black eyes. The kind that make people nervous under them. Hard to really see into, yet impossible to look away from. Judging eyes. Endless and all seeing eyes.
But those eyes snap closed as he's stripped, and everyone keeps laughing.
The rest of that day didn't go well for him. The other boys stripping him of all but his pants. White, baggy and old things that they are, they protected the last of his modesty. Potter had made a comment for the crowd's benefit about him stinking. That that's why they don't strip him naked. But he and Black don't seem to mind enough to get away from him, so he is merciful with himself and calls it a lie. Once they are done humiliating him, they drag him to the lake. Potter and Pettigrew throw him in by his wrists and ankles while Black stands back for a better view. No one comments on the marks littering his body, if they notice. It's from the cold lake that Snape realizes the last part of their joke. His pants being white and a thin rough cotton, they become see-through while wet. Snape is forced to wait in the dark water of the lake for the crowd to leave, or risk revealing the last bits of himself. At first the crowd and Marauders wait. They tell him he can't wait around forever, they goad him. But Snape is set. He refuses to come out, no matter how cold he gets. Slowly the crowd loses interest and peels off. The Marauders remain, continuing to try and encourage him out. When the teachers come, no one really gets in trouble. Though Snape was humiliated, he was 'unharmed'. The Marauders had clear injuries. Lupin gave a bland retelling of events.
They grabbed Snape. Snape fought back. None of them did anything aside from holding him, stripping him, and throwing him. That's that. The teachers were all too happy to sum it all up to 'Boys will be boys', a line Snape had heard a hundred times by then.
So no, human nature, Snape was not going to feel relieved by the presence of his fellow homo-sapiens.
Snape holds closer to the tree. The Marauders speaking amongst themselves.
"I could have sworn-... Someone else heard that, right?" Potter questions.
"I didn't hear anything. I was too busy having to defend my time at The Scouts Association. I know how to start a bloody fire!" Black returns to his squacking.
"Sirius, enough. We believe you, but- James, I heard it too! Sounded like a classmate." Lupin's voice is growing hopeful. "Christ, I hope someone else survived. Tell me someone survived and we aren't already going loopy."
Potters voice is suddenly billowing, hands likely around his mouth. "HELLO?" He calls and waits. "I know I heard a voice..." Almost too low for Snape to hear. They must be close.
Snape holds onto the tree tighter, nails threatening to break. Huh- seems he already broke a few in the swim. He takes in a sharp breath at the bleeding nubs some of his finger tips have turned into. He pictures his mindless scrambling onto the shore, clawing over sand and rock. He imagines the Marauders doing the same. He pictures them in the sea, screaming to each other about land. It was their lead he'd followed, he hates to admit. If he is going to continue surviving, he'll have to submit to many things he's sure to hate. Safety in numbers, he supposes. It's worth a shot at least. Snape swallows down his nerves and despondent hatred. He releases the tree and continues around the curve.
"Hello?" He finds himself calling from a raspy throat, giving them a chance to get their sneers out before he can see them.
"Who's there? We're over here!" Lupin's voice picks up. The hopefulness doubled. He must sound different. Perhaps scratchier or maybe he's close to losing his voice entirely. He rubs a hand over his throat.
Snape rounds the bend of the island, emerging from close to the treeline and turning to see the other three boys circled together closer to the water. They sit on a suitcase each, a pile of drift wood in the middle of them. A single piece sits closer to Black, with a stick and twine discarded carelessly beside it. Snape watches as their expressions change at the sight of him. Black's face goes from excited to completely repulsed. His eyes narrowing and his mouth dropping into an open mouthed frown of disbelief. Snape imagines he was dreaming about him drowning in the crash. He wouldn't put it past Black to see Snape's demise as the silver lining to the whole thing. Well, too bad for him. Potter's not much better. His face pinched and disappointed, but also weathered in a way Snape does not often see. Though, he doesn't look all that different from when he's lost a match. Messy, sweaty, and pouting. Lupin is the only one who seems to understand their situation for what it is.
"Snape!" His voice light and arms quickly beckoning him closer. Lupin looks only exhausted and pleased. "Come, come. You survived." He chuckles lightly after that. Then much quieter and filled with a worn out sort of relief. "Of course, you would survive. Amazing. Good, this is good."
"Yeah....amazing. 'Of course' Snivellus made it." Black shakes the slack-jawed look from his face. He turns his eyes down into the sand.
"It is." Lupin reassures in a tone completely unaffected by the sarcasm. His hands continuing their circling motions and relief bleeding out. He is nothing but reassuring, like Snape is some wild animal he means to capture. "Come here, Snape. We've made a little spot."
Snape steps closer to the group with a fair bit more gesturing from Lupin. His resistance, his nerves, they don't go away as he 'joins' them.
"Is- did- Have you seen anybody else?" Potter vasilates over the words. He doesn't seem to want to know the answer.
Snape shakes his head with a defeated look.
"Alright. Have you seen any more cases or junk from the crash? Remus says we need to gather all we can." Potter moves on as fast as he can, not allowing any of them a moment to think on the dead.
Snape isn't sure why, but his instincts tell him to lie. So he shakes his head 'No' again. His matted, bloody hair must move strangely with it, because both Potter and even Black's faces are softening and Lupin is reaching for his wrist. The excitement of another person appearing turning into the reality of another water-logged teen on death's door.
"You're hurt." The even-tempered teen says, bringing Snape to sit next to him and reaching for something. He pulls out a small metal case. The plane's medkit, Snape supplies. "Come, sit." Lupin makes room on his case.
It's then that he recognizes the wounds on the other's too. All three have bandages around their arms, with hands uncovered and littered in bruises and cuts. Between the three they are missing five finger nails. Irritated stubs left unprotected. Potter has a busted lip, that weathered and half-dead expression, and seems to be minding one leg over the other. Black looks about the same, tired and half-drowned, with some nasty bruising on his cheek- more like half his face. And Lupin looks even more sickly than usual. He's got a bandage wrapped around his leg as well as his arms. They look about as bad as Snape probably does, maybe a bit more injured but less unsteady and tired.
"What happened?" Snape nods to the bandages as Lupin cracks open the case. He tosses Black a rather used looking flannel, gesturing to the water.
"I assume you mean aside from the crash." Lupin says, Snape scoffs. "Right, well, we swam towards shore but our path wasn't really clear. The rocks we couldn't do anything about. We were either getting slammed into them by the waves, or we were having to crawl over them. Just sharp spikes everywhere, and waves throwing us like ragdolls. I can't believe I was able to hold onto this." He taps the medkit on the side and shakes his head as Black returns from the waters edge. He passes the wetted flannel. Lupin tisks the moment he touches it. "Sirius. Less sand, please?" Sounding disappointed but not surprised.
"It's the beach. It's all sand. I dunk the thing, and the waves toss shit up into it." Black defends, refusing to look at Snape.
"Lay it on the surface, you'll manage." Lupin responds, handing the flannel back. "You managed it for us."
Snape wants to say something to break the increasing tension, but he also doesn't want to have to wash his cuts with a sandy rag. He lets Lupin boss Black around, purposefully ignoring the irritation that's dripping off of Black the longer Snape sits. The second time around, Lupin deems the flannel decent enough. Snape goes to take it from Lupin.
"No, allow me. I can see it better." Lupin cuts Snape off from snatching the rag.
"I'll manage, give it." Snape argues back. Lupin refuses to back down, flannel held just far enough away. "Fine." Snape eventually says. Lupin is right, anyways. Snape can't really see what he'd be cleaning.
Lupin dabs the flannel around. Patting and gently pressing on places with flaking chips of blood or long gooey strokes. Snape refuses to look at his nurse, eyes instead down and away from the group. Lupin scrubs an uninjured but dirty section of his cheek.
"I suppose you haven't seen anyone else either." He says to the group. "No other survivors?"
Potter shakes his head in Snape's peripheral. "No, no one else. We've been watching the wreck all day too. No movement aside from the ocean rising and lowering around her."
Snape hums out his distress. Lupin presses the cloth against the tender place on his head. The taller teen tuts as he tries to sop up tacky, old, coagulated blood from Snape's hair.
"What happened? Rocks?" Lupin asks idly.
"No, I hit the window in the crash, I think." Snape responds. "I blacked out briefly."
"Hmm, well you're lucky. It doesn't look as bad as it could. We should still check you for a concussion though." Lupin tosses the thoroughly used flannel away.
"Is that you're professional opinion, Dr?" Snape snides back.
Lupin just laughs, some of his exhaustion leaving with it. "It sure is." Then he's reaching for Snape's face again, aiming to pinch him in by the cheeks like a mother cleaning her rowdy child's face, like he had briefly while doing that very task.
"I doubt I have a concussion. I've slept since." Snape looks away as he says it. Lupin keeps his grip on him, so it's hard to get far. Snape doesn't like this, he decides. The touches all unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He feels oddly fussed over and unwelcome in nearly equal measures. Lupin being overly friendly, Potter looking destitute, and Black still casting gloomy looks at him.
"We'll still check anyways, better safe than sorry an' all." Lupin tilts his head up, using the sun in place of a flashlight which Snape doesn't need to ask after to know they don't have. "I'm not sure how effective a test this is, but you look alright. Steady gaze and normal dilation. As far as I can tell."
Snape pulls out of his hold quickly. He feels it'd be polite to, the right words, but he doesn't say 'thank you' for any of it.
"Was anyone else awake when you got out?" Potter asks next.
"I'm unsure. It was hard to tell what eyes were...not many of them were moving. The water was filling in so quickly." Snape touches absently at his sore throat.
"You didn't try, not at all?" Black cuts in.
"Did you? Your little party seemed pretty quick to get out too." Snape snaps.
"Just a question." Black holds his same level of irritation or despondency, whatever he's feeling.
"You got out after us then?" Potter clarifies.
"Yes, seeing what I now know was you escaping, it startled me into action." Snape says, just as tight lipped as always.
"Well, that's a shame." Potter mutters with deep disappointment. Snape must pull a face because he's speaking again in a hurry. "Not- not that you made it! That no one else did."
Snape grumbles in response. He still feels so tired.
"You said you slept?" Lupin changes the subject.
"Yes. Since I made it to shore until about twenty minutes ago. Then I found you."
"Not us." Black chirps bitterly. "We passed out the second we hit the sand, but then came-to some time early this morning. Hours fussing in the dark and cold, trying to figure out what the hell happened that got us here.
"What are the odds." Potter sighs. "Funny that it's us stuck in this situation together." Snape can't help but nod.
"Almost, you're down a member." Snape isn't sure why he says it. He means no real harm by it, but it's definitely in poor taste. "Sorry..." He bites out after, when the group tenses. The apology rather stuck on his tongue.
"No, you're right. Guess you're getting your wish after all. One by one." Potter says before he stands and heads down the beach. "I'm going to look around some more." He's limping as he goes.
"Your leg, James." Black stands too.
"Go with him then." Lupin waves the two off. "He's not going to listen."
Black follows after Potter with an arm supporting him around his back.
They walk off, voices hushed but mouths flapping expressively.
"It's been a long day." Lupin offers before he's looking around their little area on the beach. Lupin stands, hands landing on his hips. "I suppose a shelter would be next on the list."
Snape watches while Lupin scurries around the beach and treeline. He begins dragging branches and large sticks. He's breathing heavily by the third one. Snape joins him, the work going faster with two sets of hands. They have a large pile after what they both assume is an hour. Potter and Black are still gone when Lupin begins laying out certain ones and leaving others piled. Snape silently helps him make a half-square of larger branches. He tries stacking them a few times, but they don't balance well and fall. With a huff, Lupin lets them fall and instead lays them one after the other, creating what looks to be the world's most uncomfortable bed. Snape notices his face is paler, yet very flushed. His breathing a little jerky.
"Sit down, Lupin. Tell me what's next." Snape gestures towards one of the cases. "What kind of shelter are you even trying to build here?"
Lupin does sit, though not without first pinching his brows unhappily and huffing as he lands on the case. He looks disappointed through the jerky motions of his chest. "I don't really know. I was hoping to make at least a small levee or wall, to keep the wind off us, but I can't notch the logs. I'd like to eventually have us covered on four sides. Left, right, behind, and above."
"Above? So a roof."
"Yeah, but that won't really happen unless the issue with the branches is also solved. We need a knife of some kind. I was thinking of stripping the leather from the suitcases that we can, and making some kind of tarp or cover for overhead. I'm not sure how likely it is to rain here, but the sun will be baking us regardless." Lupin swipes away the sweat gathering at his neck.
Snape glances towards the trees pushed far back, away from the beach. Some of them with palmed leaves. "Those palms. For now why don't we use those?" He nods his head towards them. He pushes aside the thought that Lupin means to build a shelter for them, implying a potential for a longer stay here. And that Snape would have to share it with them.
Lupin sighs, nodding. "That's part of the idea, but we won't have enough light to finish it. It'll have to just be a bed with very short walls, that's why I laid them out like that. Get a little elevation." Then he too looks to the tall trees. "But the only ones you'll be able to reach will be on the ground. Don't tell the other two."
"Why?"
"I don't think they'll sleep on it if they know." Lupin says it with a roll of his eyes.
"Are they really in the position to be picky?" Snape scoffs.
"No, but they may be anyway." Then Lupin smiles a little. "They don't like bugs in their beds. They'll complain about those carrying bugs."
Snape scoffs again and goes to collect the downed palms. For a bed. That he is apparently going to share with Lupin, Black, and Potter.
×××
The woods- if you can call it that -of the island are sparse at the start but quickly gets denser. The air is humid and itchy, making even a thin shirt feel like scratchy, sweaty wool. Snape wants to scratch himself raw by the time he's called off his palm leaves retrieval. For which, he had to shake all kinds of bugs and spiders off almost every single one.
Lupin, regardless of Snape's decision to eventually quit, seems pleased with what he's done.
"Thank you, Snape. There may even be enough for some of these to cover us." He had said, already having laid out half of them as Snape worked. The mat intended for them to sleep on, looks much better now. Instead of like sleeping on the floor, it'll now be more like sleeping on a blanket on the floor. Still better than nothing. "This looks good. The others should be returning soon too. We'll all get some rest, and we'll figure out our next steps then."
Ah, Snape gets it now. Lupin is organizing their little island misadventure. He's going through the check-list, dotting all his i's and crossing all his t's. He's keeping them moving so that the reality of what's happened won't crush him. Silently, Snape lays the extras over the top.
"It doesn't look like much." Snape says. "But it is better than nothing."
"My thoughts exactly." Lupin agrees, smiling through it.
They hear voices approaching. Potter and Black returning.
The two boys drag a single duffle with them. The thing hangs awkwardly from Black's shoulder as he uses the other to support Potter's arm. Lupin jogs to meet them, taking the large bag. Black groans in thanks before moving Potter along with a now single-minded focus. He scoffs at the sight of the shelter.
"That doesn't look like much." Black grumbles, before laying Potter down in it. "But I guess it's better than nothing. Last night was shite." Snape feels his nose scrunch up at he and Black's near identical wording. Lupin just gives him a glance before kneeling near Potter's leg.
"You really should have saved your strength." Lupin tells him.
"Yeah, I know." Potter sighs, covering his face with his arm. "Thanks for setting this up." The words are appreciative, but Potter's tone does not sound very thankful. The arm squeezes around his face a bit.
"It was mostly Snape." Lupin lies.
The other two make little hum sounds, barely acknowledging the words.
Snape decides to walk away towards the waters edge, the tide much closer now. The conversation carrying on behind him- without him.
"What's in the duffy?" Lupin asks.
"Clothes mainly. Like all of them. But, we also found this..." Black goes into one of the side pockets and takes out a book. "Ironic, right?"
Snape can't see the cover, but it makes Lupin tut with a distasteful expression.
"Have you even read that, Sirius?" Lupin takes the book, flitting through the damp pages.
"No, but I've heard of it. Sweet Mum was a bit scandalized by it when it came out." Sirius responds. "Why's it called that anyways?"
"They put a pig's head on a spike, flies gather. It also is a reference to a devil." Lupin thumbs to a page. " 'You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close!' Hmm." Lupin reads the quote at a whisper, face still scrunched. "The pig head talks in it." Lupin adds, louder this time.
Lord of the Flies? Snape would guess. He had read it. His father making it a point to slap the thing into his hands once. His father had really liked something about the book, had insisted on Snape reading it. Snape hadn't really liked it, as he remembers. It had made him feel uncomfortable in a way he sometimes feels. A way not all that different from seeing the Marauders in his peripherals. The boys in the book were all so...realistic- and unrealistic. Savage in a way that was as cartoonish as the faux war paint and ululations they emulated, but they also turned on each other- losing themselves with a realistic viciousness. They lost their minds, they made up monsters to fight, then they slowly turned on each other for power and control. They were spoiled, rich, and squished under the threat of man-made war. They were selfish little beasts. Stupid too. Snape hadn't felt much when they were saved in the end. All the best of the boys had already died by then.
"Don't they all turn on each other? Start killing themselves out of fear." Potter joins in, still slumped in the shelter. Snape scoffs to himself. That's a simple way to put it.
"Have something to share, Snivellus?" Black asks, clearly having heard.
"No, Black." He matches the tone. "Simply laughing at the irony."
Black would be most like Roger, Snape decides. If they all went crazy like the boys in the book. The faithful and aurguably crueler lieutenant to his leader, Jack. That would make Potter, Jack. Snape could picture it now. The two of them stomping around the island, looking for something to take their fear and aggression out on. Maybe they saw a 'beast' of their own out there, and would soon rally to go kill it.
Snape imagines that would make Lupin like their Ralph. Trying to keep them all civilized, trying to keep the peace. But then again, Ralph had joined in when they killed that other boy. Simon, he thinks. Lupin isn't the joining-in type, only in spirit- in allowance. He imagines the times Lupin had laughed, deeming their treatment of Snivellus as balanced enough between humor and cruelty. Lupin liked the small pranks. The ones that made Snape look silly or small for as long as it took Snape to realize what they were doing. Lupin liked the bugs that used to make Snape squeak. Lupin liked the word plays and 'haha listen to what I got Snivellus to say's. Lupin liked the paint around the eye of a telescope, the forcefully putting Snivellus hair in pig tails, the quick and easy stuff. If it went on for more than ~thirty seconds, he lost his nerve and would slowly stop laughing. Like Ralph stepping back to see what they had done. Murder.
Snape wonders if that makes him Simon. He doesn't really like to think of himself as on of the boys, especially not one of the murdered boys, but Simon had also been the only character that Snape had liked. He was too soft and kind to be like Snape, but he had also been more solitary. He hadn't really been like any of the other boys. Like Snape wants to, Simon had stuck to himself more. He hadn't been cruel, and yet he also wasn't civilized, in fact he goes a little crazy. He was othered from the rest of the boys. Who's he kidding, Snivellus would be Piggy. Smart, laughed at, and then murdered. Now that was Snivellus.
"The boys in that book are stupid." Snape adds.
"I agree. But they are also very human too, don't you think?" Lupin cuts in before the tension between Snape and Black can fall into something all too familiar and inappropriate for their new environment. "They are put in the wild, and they have to either remain men, or turn to instincts."
"So what they do is simple 'instincts' then? To me it seems like too much energy to be instinctual. An 'excuse' more like. If they were acting like animals, they would have only cared about survival, not control. Those boys wanted to be scary more than they wanted to stay alive or get home. It is the opposite of nature to seek out that kind of waste of energy and resources." Snape says with a pulled up lip. "They enjoyed the cruelty too much. Even animals don't behave like that."
"But not all the boys were like that. Many of them sided with peace and community first. Jack and his hunters take them away one by one, he's the one who enjoys it. I reckon the other boys follow along because they see it as their only option, as the natural progression of things. Even Ralph succumbs to the tribal frenzy, to instincts." Lupin takes a few steps closer to discuss the book, thumbing through the pages.
Snape doesn't dismiss Lupin as he speaks, but he still turns away from the discussion. "I still believe that has more to do with who they are, and not what they are. They are well-to-do young men living through a world war, they aren't the end all and be all of humans." Snape can't help but scoff again. "Their nature isn't mine."
"Well, we all can't be as evolved as little Snivellus, can we?" Black scoffs as well. "You are truely above us." He then fakes a little bow.
"Now, Sirius-" A put out sigh following.
Potter jumps in. Suddenly snapping at them. "Why are we even talking about this? Why have we even made this sodding shelter? We are going home soon! None of this matters!" Then, lame leg an' all, Potter is turning on his side. All huffing breath and irritated exhales as he tries to get comfortable.
They all are quiet through his minor tantrum.
"We will be rescued, you are right, James. I had only intended to keep us comfortable for the night." Lupin mutters, the setting sun cutting across his face. It turns him golden. "We all just want to be as comfortable and safe as we can until then."
Potter sighs louder. "I knew, Remus. I'm sorry mate. It's just...Why did this happen?" Then sharp eyes are peering through unusually messy locks. They cut into Snape. "Why'd it have to be him?"
"Would you rather he drowned, James? Would his water-logged corpse make for a more pleasant companion?" Lupin's tired nannying finally breaking off in exhaustion. His bright browns whaling while his arms lift up in a 'what-do-you-want-from-me' gesture.
"I didn't say that!" Potter rolls his eyes, which are growing shiny. "I don't give a- I could spit on Snape's wellbeing." James grits his teeth hard, seething really. "I should have- BLOODY CHRIST! I should have made sure Peter got out with us!" Tears fill Potter's eyes, immediately overflowing and spilling down his cheeks. "D-do you -hic- think he thought we abandoned him? Was he even alive af-after we hit the water?" His words broken by involuntary jerks and gasps of his body as the tears fight their way out.
"James!" Black is at his side in a second. "James it isn't your fault. It isn't anyone's! Pete- Peter wouldn't want you to rip yourself apart." But Black too is quickly devolving into a crying mess.
Snape steps backwards into the lazy tide in his need to pull away from the messy scene. His lips curling back and skin pimpling with goosebumps. He's never seen them cry before, only laugh the few times they got him to.
Lupin makes it to Potter's back soon after Black. The two of them laying on either side of Potter, both trying to comfort him even as their own tears begin to cut up their words. It becomes very obvious when all of them have fallen to their suppressed grief. The sobs loud and all hushed over by a revolving round of them each taking over the responsibility of comforting the others. Black telling them there was nothing they could have done. Potter going on and on about how much Pettigrew cared about them. Lupin telling them it would be alright, eventually. Then each of them crumbling in turn. Black admitting he hadn't even spared Pettigrew a thought while escaping. Potter regretting bringing him along, blaming himself for it. Lupin crying and muttering too quietly for Snape to hear.
Snape walks until the sounds of crying are just quiet enough to ignore. He finds himself half way down the beach before he realizes he's run away from the display of grief. Then he plops down onto the sand, looking out at the waves and slowly setting sun.
Snape sits there for awhile. It takes the other boys awhile to stop crying.
Eventually Snape feels a tap on his shoulder, and he's looking up at a red-eyed Lupin.
"Sirius is starting a fire. Then we are going to get some sleep." Lupin says, voice emotionless and rough. "Come on, it'll be warm and safe with us."
Snape follows him back to the shelter.
Black is kneeling down, cradling a bundle of tinder like it is the embryo of his first born. He's using a degree of care the Snape would have assumed him incapable of, if he had never seen the other boy- from a distance -with his mates. Black looks like he's cried too much as well. His eyes puffed up so bad they are almost half-closed.
Potter looks to be asleep from within the shelter. His leg splinted a bit better than it was before, but still looking uncomfortable as it digs into the palms underneath him.
Snape doesn't think there'll be enough room for him, just looking at the space Potter takes up.
"There we go." Black mumbles, a few small flames licking up at his tear-stained cheeks. He's careful still as he adds a few sticks.
"Good work, Sirius. Thank you." Lupin gives him a few pats on the shoulder before directing Snape to the make-shift shelter. His voice goes to a whisper. "Why don't you go right there, and then I'll lay down beside you. Then James, and then Sirius. Is that alright?" Even as Lupin asks the question, his hands are placing themselves on Snape's back and guiding him where Lupin has already decided he'll do the least damage. Snape goes.
"Just like that, huh? And he's sleeping with us." Black mumbles some more. "Whatever. As long as he's not touching me."
Lupin ignores him, silently encouraging Snape to do the same. "There, comfortable enough?" Lupin says once Snape has flopped down against one of the walls, leaving as much space as he can between himself and Potter. His mind already questioning if it is too late for him to return to the cove. But all he does is nod. "Good. I'll join you two soon." Then Lupin is returning to Black's side. Both of them fuss over the weak flames.
"You should be in bed." Black whispers. "How are you feeling? Well enough?"
Lupin's response is quiet. "I'll manage."
Snape watches the fire grow until his exhaustion puts him to sleep. He doesn't so much as glance Potter's way.
Lupin startles him when he returns to the shelter. Snape jolting in place as the unfamiliar feeling of a body brushing against his wakes him.
"Sorry." Lupin whispers. "It's just me. Go back to sleep." Then a back is pressing against Snape's. The two of them touching from nearly shoulders to tailbones.
Snape forces himself to listen and falls back asleep. He doesn't dream that night.
×××