ellidfics (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ellidfics) wrote,@ 2010-01-03 18:38:00 |
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Fic #8: Cenotaph
Title: Cenotaph
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Remus goes to a grave, and encounters the unexpected.
There can be no grave without a body. But there can be a marker. We cannot forget.
So Albus had said at the memorial service for Sirius Black. It had been a hasty, clandestine thing: a few whispered prayers by the new lady vicar in the crumbling church at Grimmauld Square, a truncated eulogy from Albus to a handful of attendees, and a great deal of misery from Harry. He had wanted his godfather to have the hero’s funeral he deserved, not fifteen minutes wedged between organ practice and the WI meeting. The best the Order could promise was a slab in the Black family plot in Hanwell Cemetery tucked in amongst the other wizarding graves, and some sort of public recognition “when it‘s safe.”
Safe. As if we will ever be safe as long as that madman is alive. Remus walked down the left hand path in Section 7. The cool green of the plantings muffled the noise from Uxbridge Road. It was still a hot, dusty evening in a hot, dusty city, and he was sweating enough by the time he reached the wizarding section that he wished he’d remembered to set a cooling charm on his clothes before leaving his flat.
The marker was a deliberately nondescript slab of granite underneath a yew tree. Remus knelt before it and brought his right hand to his forehead, then drew his fingertips across the smooth grey stone.
P.D. Foote 1960-1996
“Safe in the arms of Jesus”
flickered and reformed itself into
Sirius Alexander Black
Born 1960, died in battle 1996
Beloved friend and godfather
« “Our Brightest Star” «
Remus knew why it had to be so simple, and why there was a false name. It still stung. Sirius had died a hero. He deserved better than a cenotaph engraved with someone else’s name.
God. It was hard to believe that it had been a month. Less, because the fight - he would not dignify that unorganised brawl by calling it a “battle,” as The Prophet had already done at least once - had been the same day as the OWLS and the NEWTS, and today was the 20th of July.
Remus traced the inscription once, twice. “Why, Padfoot? You shouldn’t have been there at all. Severus told you not to go. I told you not to go, to do what Severus asked and wait for Albus. But you couldn’t stay behind, could you? Not when Harry was in danger.”
His eyes burned. Remus bowed his head and let the tears carve their way down his face. He had stayed strong for Harry at the service, and the last few weeks had been so crammed with work that he had scarcely had time to sleep, let alone mourn. Seeing it in writing, reading the words he had picked out himself -
“Damn you, Sirius. You were the last one. The last. And you had to go rushing off half-cocked the way you did when James and Lily died.” Tears splashed on the marker. “Did you ever once think that maybe, just maybe, I could have helped you catch Peter? Or did you still think the traitor was me?” He drew a deep, shuddery breath. “God in heaven, why didn’t you think for once in your life?”
A horn honked somewhere on Uxbridge Road, followed by the faint screech of tires on pavement and a tinkly crash. Remus looked up at the sound. He could just make out two voices yelling epithets in what sounded like Hindi at each other, then a hoarse Cockney bellow.
“Nothing like a good old London bobby to liven things up, eh?” He swiped at his face. “Just like that time that lorry driver backed over your bike and you nearly hexed the poor man until PC Wigglesworth showed up - “
It was good, reminiscing like this. The grief and anger dissipated as more and more memories surfaced, some from twenty years ago, some more recent. He could breathe for what felt like the first time in weeks.
Hot wind gusted through the yew tree. A church bell tolled eight times. Remus smoothed the false inscription back into place and rose, wincing slightly as something in his left knee caught for a blinding moment. He had wrenched his leg last month leading Walden MacNair and his cronies away from a message drop, and it seemed that the injury had carried over to his human form. At this rate he would be in a wheelchair before he was fifty.
He had leaned over to rub his knee and was contemplating whether it might finally be time to pay a visit to the orthopaedist at St. Mungo’s when he caught the flash of black in his peripheral vision. He instantly yanked his wand from his pocket and whirled in the direction of the movement. Hanwell Cemetary was all but deserted on a weekday evening, and he had felt the faint tingle of an Unplottable charm as he crossed into the wizarding section. The new arrival had to be another wizard, not a Muggle wandering into a graveyard at night on a dare.
The newcomer had gone straight past the Black monuments to a section at the extreme rear of Section 7. Remus counted to fifteen and followed the path. Whoever it was wore an unseasonable ankle-length cloak that belled out behind him like a darker shadow in the gathering dusk.
Remus stopped at a holly tree. The wizard (that much was clear) had pulled his wand and drawn a pattern around a single overgrown monument. It was impossible to read the inscription for the grass and vines choking the plot.
“Scourgify.” The weeds flared gold for a moment before dissolving into particles fine enough to meld with the wind. The wizard removed his cloak and carefully folded it into quarters before placing it beside the grave. “Lumos.”
The harsh wand light flared up for a moment before settling into a steady glow. Remus took a step forward as that unmistakable profile appeared in silhouette against the tombstone. The family estate - what was left of it - was in Yorkshire. What was he doing at a grave in London?
He must have made some sound on the gravel path, or perhaps the other wizard was paranoid enough to set a protective spell. Snape jerked slightly and snapped his head around to face Remus. The wand drooped as recognition set in.
“Lupin?” The usually smooth voice caught slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same question.” Remus held up both hands, wand pointing skyward. Snape looked exhausted to the point of collapse. What had Albus sent him to do now? “I was visiting Sirius’s marker. You?”
Snape closed his eyes and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Not that, as you can imagine. And I wasn’t following you, if that’s what you think. I come here every year.”
“Oh.” Remus sheathed his wand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I need to leave anyway - “
“No.” Snape crooked his left index finger at Remus. “Stay. You aren’t my first choice, but you’re here and someone should know how to do this next year in case - “ He stopped.
In case I’m dead by then. He did not need to say the words aloud. And of all of them, Snape was the most likely to die by next summer, Walden MacNair and his silver-dipped axe notwithstanding. Remus forced down a shudder despite the heat.
“What do you need, Severus?” Remus joined him beside the grave. The polished red granite simply read
R. Snape
1930-1974
“If it’s a spell that needs to be refreshed - “
Severus gestured at his cloak, which unfolded enough to give them both room to sit down. He sat down and waited for Remus to join him on the smooth black wool. “No. That’s included in the cemetery fees, along with the non-existent maintenance.” He scowled at the charred remains of what had been a small nettle plant and tugged at the collar of his black polo neck. “This - it’s a family obligation. And I have no family. I would ask Albus or Minerva, but the school and the Order take too much of their time.”
A bat swished through the evergreens, its squeaking barely audible even to Remus. He settled his legs into a more comfortable position and waited for Severus to continue.
“Perhaps I should show you before telling,” Severus said at last. He raised his hand to the grave, fingers spread between the thumb and index and middle and ring, then gently touched the cool stone. The surface blurred, then reshaped itself to read
Rebecca Judith Steinberg
1930-1974
Proverbs 31
The rest of the inscription was in Hebrew, a language Remus knew only through his Defence studies. Two hands in the split-finger gesture seemed to cradle the letters.
“Rivka - ?”
“Rivka bas Chaim, eshet chayil.” Severus bowed his head, eyes closed. “Or, if you prefer, 'Rebecca, daughter of Chaim, woman of valor'. My mother. She died when I was fourteen.”
“Your mother?” Remus bit back the impulse to say I didn’t know your mother was Jewish. When had he ever asked? “I didn’t know she was buried here,” he said at last. “I’m so very sorry.”
Severus made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. “One would never guess that, from the way you and your friends treated me that fall. I wasn’t in school three hours before Pettigrew hexed my satchel to turn inside out during Divination.”
Remus bared his teeth at the memory. Peter had taken the lead for once on what he called “a welcome back present for Snivellus” after the Severus had returned from summer hols wearing a black mourning band on his left sleeve. Professor Gematria had taken points from Severus for being careless with his possessions, Severus had stormed out of the room, and rumor had it that he had spent the weekend locked in the Slytherin dorm refusing to eat. Remus knew that much wasn’t true, at least - he had seen Severus in the herb garden talking with his Head of House - but the tantrum suddenly made sense. “I wasn‘t in that class - “
“Spare me, Lupin. You know you wouldn’t have lifted a finger.” The thin shoulders trembled. “This is difficult enough for me, speaking of my family to you. If I had a choice -
“Don’t. If it makes you that uncomfortable, I’ll go and fetch Albus - “ If I’d been there - if I’d known - if - if - if - He started to get up.
“No!” Snape clutched his arm hard enough to hurt. “It has to be done at sunset. There’s no time, even if you apparate.”
Remus stared at the hand gripping his arm, and then at Severus. The brilliant eyes were anything but cold tonight. “All right. Show me what I need to do.” He thought for a moment. “And before you ask, I will tell no one unless it’s absolutely necessary. My oath as a wizard.”
“Very well.” Severus relaxed his fingers, very slowly. His knuckles looked almost too large on such narrow hands. “I accept your oath.”
“Thank you.” Remus waited until Severus had turned back to the inscription to continue. “What should I do?”
Severus reached into his pocket and pulled out a stubby candle in a glass jar. “It’s called a yahrzeit - ‘year candle’ would be the best approximation in English. They’re lit on the anniversary of a relative’s death under the Jewish calendar and left to burn for a day and a night. It’s a lunar calendar, so the date will vary - you might wish to check with a synagogue to be certain.“ An ambulance swept past the cemetery. Severus ignored the ugly wail. “There’s also a prayer in Hebrew, but it can be recited in English if one does not speak Hebrew well.”
He must have loved his mother very much, to ignore a chance to make yet another tedious lunar joke. Remus watched as he set the candle on the grave and lit it with the tip of his wand. “Like me.”
“Like you and virtually the entire wizarding population of Britain,” Severus said. His lips thinned for a moment “I learned to speak Hebrew as an adult. My mother taught me by rote as a child, and only when my father was out of the house. He wanted me raised C of E, not Jewish.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
Severus shook his head. “I’m not sure he knew my mother was Jewish when he married her - her parents did their best to assimilate after the Grindelwald war. All he knew was that she was young, pureblooded, and able to bear children.” His voice dropped to a gravely whisper. “If family lore is to be believed, he never forgave her for having me circumcised. Threw the mohel bodily out of the house, or so my aunt said.” He crushed the ruined nettle in his left hand and slowly worked the ashes into the black cord of his trousers. “He even claimed she was Christian to bury her here instead of with her parents at Carterhatch Lane. Damn him.”
Remus’s own father had died soon after he had left school, bankrupted by the charlatans who had promised to cure his only child’s lycanthropy. His mother had been in America for years, a physically distant but loving presence who sent him money “to buy yourself something nice” at odd intervals and owled him warm socks and a subscription to Ars Tenebrae every Christmas. He had never doubted their love, even in the dark days right after the bite. What could he say in the face of such quiet hatred?
It was no wonder Severus had turned to the Dark. The only wonder was how Albus had managed to drag him back to the Light.
“I can brush up on my Hebrew this summer - I can read it, a bit. You’d be shocked at how many Muggles are studying Kabbala right now, and the problems it‘s caused. It seems to be quite the rage.”
“Dunderheads. Even the Dark Lord never went that far. They have no idea what could happen.” A lock of black hair fell past his cheek. Severus flipped it into place and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here’s the text in English and in Hebrew. Is there enough light for you follow along?”
“Yes.” Remus held the text at arm’s length. The Hebrew was unintelligible, but the English was clear enough. “’O God full of compassion - ‘“
“El Mal’e Rachamim, shokhen ba-meromim, ha-metze menuchah - “
Remus had always wondered at Severus’ lecture style: the smooth cadences, the near-poetic flow when he taught his beloved subject. Now he knew the source. It was the same almost music he had heard once as a boy when his father had taken him to consult a learned rabbi about the curse and they had had to wait until the end of the morning prayers. It was beautiful and harsh and guttural and made anything he’d ever heard in a church sound like a nursery rhyme. He stared at the sharp profile as Severus chanted, voice catching only on what had to be her name. The candle fluttered in the night breeze.
The last “amen” trailed into silence. Severus ran a hand over the gravestone and watched without speaking as it reformed into R. Snape. Remus waited for him to move before folding the text into eighths and tucking it into the watch pocket of his jeans.
“That’s all.” The words were barely audible. “There are other prayers, but I usually say those at home. I’m scarcely what one would call ‘observant.’”
“I don’t think God is going to strike you with lightning, Severus. You’re here, aren’t you? And isn’t that what counts?”
“One would hope.” Severus lifted his wand and stared at the inscription. “Nox.”
They sat watching the grave by candlelight until the church bell tolled ten times. Severus rose, stumbling slightly as he unfolded his legs. “I need to get back to Hogsmeade.“
“Have you eaten anything?” Remus reached out to steady him before he could bark his shins on the gravestone.
“No. I usually fast before I come here.” For once Severus looked his age, or maybe a little younger. “Thank you, Lupin - “
“I insist.” Remus had just been paid for a book review. One quick meal wouldn’t break him. “We needn’t go to Diagon Alley if you’re concerned about being seen. I know a little pub near Hanover Square. It’s nothing fancy, but the food is good.”
Severus was just enough taller to have to tilt his head down to look Remus in the eye. “Why are you doing this? Some misguided sense of comradeship?”
“Nothing like that,” said Remus. One wrong word and Severus would head straight back to Hogsmeade. “I only thought that if I’m to honour your mother, I should know more about her than her name and date of death.”
The dark hair fell forward as Severus turned to face the candle again. His cloak floated up and over his arm, still neatly folded. Remus wondered if he would ever say a word.
“It was just a thought.” Remus patted his pocket to make sure the paper was still there. “I’ll be off, then - “
“Lu - Remus?” It was the same rough whisper he had heard when Severus talked about his father. “I - I think that would be a good idea. Talking about my mother. I do need to get back to the school, but - “
“No problem. The owner is an old friend of mine. He'll make sure we're served quickly.” Remus waved the other man onto the path. Moonlight blanched the evergreens nearly white. “You needn’t give me your life story, you know. I just want to know about her.”
“Truly?”
Remus smiled up at him. “Truly. She sounds like an amazing woman. I wish I’d known her.”
“She was.” Severus took a deep breath and began to walk. Remus fell in step beside him. Their shadows merged on the macadam. “She was born in Karlsruhe, just as Grindelwald was coming to power in Germany - “
Notes: the prayer and graveside ritual are taken from Maurice Lamm's The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning. Any mistakes of interpretation are my own.
Also, this fic was originally written formarksykins. I will be reading it at The Witching Hour in October 2005.
Title: Cenotaph
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Remus goes to a grave, and encounters the unexpected.
There can be no grave without a body. But there can be a marker. We cannot forget.
So Albus had said at the memorial service for Sirius Black. It had been a hasty, clandestine thing: a few whispered prayers by the new lady vicar in the crumbling church at Grimmauld Square, a truncated eulogy from Albus to a handful of attendees, and a great deal of misery from Harry. He had wanted his godfather to have the hero’s funeral he deserved, not fifteen minutes wedged between organ practice and the WI meeting. The best the Order could promise was a slab in the Black family plot in Hanwell Cemetery tucked in amongst the other wizarding graves, and some sort of public recognition “when it‘s safe.”
Safe. As if we will ever be safe as long as that madman is alive. Remus walked down the left hand path in Section 7. The cool green of the plantings muffled the noise from Uxbridge Road. It was still a hot, dusty evening in a hot, dusty city, and he was sweating enough by the time he reached the wizarding section that he wished he’d remembered to set a cooling charm on his clothes before leaving his flat.
The marker was a deliberately nondescript slab of granite underneath a yew tree. Remus knelt before it and brought his right hand to his forehead, then drew his fingertips across the smooth grey stone.
P.D. Foote 1960-1996
“Safe in the arms of Jesus”
flickered and reformed itself into
Sirius Alexander Black
Born 1960, died in battle 1996
Beloved friend and godfather
« “Our Brightest Star” «
Remus knew why it had to be so simple, and why there was a false name. It still stung. Sirius had died a hero. He deserved better than a cenotaph engraved with someone else’s name.
God. It was hard to believe that it had been a month. Less, because the fight - he would not dignify that unorganised brawl by calling it a “battle,” as The Prophet had already done at least once - had been the same day as the OWLS and the NEWTS, and today was the 20th of July.
Remus traced the inscription once, twice. “Why, Padfoot? You shouldn’t have been there at all. Severus told you not to go. I told you not to go, to do what Severus asked and wait for Albus. But you couldn’t stay behind, could you? Not when Harry was in danger.”
His eyes burned. Remus bowed his head and let the tears carve their way down his face. He had stayed strong for Harry at the service, and the last few weeks had been so crammed with work that he had scarcely had time to sleep, let alone mourn. Seeing it in writing, reading the words he had picked out himself -
“Damn you, Sirius. You were the last one. The last. And you had to go rushing off half-cocked the way you did when James and Lily died.” Tears splashed on the marker. “Did you ever once think that maybe, just maybe, I could have helped you catch Peter? Or did you still think the traitor was me?” He drew a deep, shuddery breath. “God in heaven, why didn’t you think for once in your life?”
A horn honked somewhere on Uxbridge Road, followed by the faint screech of tires on pavement and a tinkly crash. Remus looked up at the sound. He could just make out two voices yelling epithets in what sounded like Hindi at each other, then a hoarse Cockney bellow.
“Nothing like a good old London bobby to liven things up, eh?” He swiped at his face. “Just like that time that lorry driver backed over your bike and you nearly hexed the poor man until PC Wigglesworth showed up - “
It was good, reminiscing like this. The grief and anger dissipated as more and more memories surfaced, some from twenty years ago, some more recent. He could breathe for what felt like the first time in weeks.
Hot wind gusted through the yew tree. A church bell tolled eight times. Remus smoothed the false inscription back into place and rose, wincing slightly as something in his left knee caught for a blinding moment. He had wrenched his leg last month leading Walden MacNair and his cronies away from a message drop, and it seemed that the injury had carried over to his human form. At this rate he would be in a wheelchair before he was fifty.
He had leaned over to rub his knee and was contemplating whether it might finally be time to pay a visit to the orthopaedist at St. Mungo’s when he caught the flash of black in his peripheral vision. He instantly yanked his wand from his pocket and whirled in the direction of the movement. Hanwell Cemetary was all but deserted on a weekday evening, and he had felt the faint tingle of an Unplottable charm as he crossed into the wizarding section. The new arrival had to be another wizard, not a Muggle wandering into a graveyard at night on a dare.
The newcomer had gone straight past the Black monuments to a section at the extreme rear of Section 7. Remus counted to fifteen and followed the path. Whoever it was wore an unseasonable ankle-length cloak that belled out behind him like a darker shadow in the gathering dusk.
Remus stopped at a holly tree. The wizard (that much was clear) had pulled his wand and drawn a pattern around a single overgrown monument. It was impossible to read the inscription for the grass and vines choking the plot.
“Scourgify.” The weeds flared gold for a moment before dissolving into particles fine enough to meld with the wind. The wizard removed his cloak and carefully folded it into quarters before placing it beside the grave. “Lumos.”
The harsh wand light flared up for a moment before settling into a steady glow. Remus took a step forward as that unmistakable profile appeared in silhouette against the tombstone. The family estate - what was left of it - was in Yorkshire. What was he doing at a grave in London?
He must have made some sound on the gravel path, or perhaps the other wizard was paranoid enough to set a protective spell. Snape jerked slightly and snapped his head around to face Remus. The wand drooped as recognition set in.
“Lupin?” The usually smooth voice caught slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same question.” Remus held up both hands, wand pointing skyward. Snape looked exhausted to the point of collapse. What had Albus sent him to do now? “I was visiting Sirius’s marker. You?”
Snape closed his eyes and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Not that, as you can imagine. And I wasn’t following you, if that’s what you think. I come here every year.”
“Oh.” Remus sheathed his wand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I need to leave anyway - “
“No.” Snape crooked his left index finger at Remus. “Stay. You aren’t my first choice, but you’re here and someone should know how to do this next year in case - “ He stopped.
In case I’m dead by then. He did not need to say the words aloud. And of all of them, Snape was the most likely to die by next summer, Walden MacNair and his silver-dipped axe notwithstanding. Remus forced down a shudder despite the heat.
“What do you need, Severus?” Remus joined him beside the grave. The polished red granite simply read
R. Snape
1930-1974
“If it’s a spell that needs to be refreshed - “
Severus gestured at his cloak, which unfolded enough to give them both room to sit down. He sat down and waited for Remus to join him on the smooth black wool. “No. That’s included in the cemetery fees, along with the non-existent maintenance.” He scowled at the charred remains of what had been a small nettle plant and tugged at the collar of his black polo neck. “This - it’s a family obligation. And I have no family. I would ask Albus or Minerva, but the school and the Order take too much of their time.”
A bat swished through the evergreens, its squeaking barely audible even to Remus. He settled his legs into a more comfortable position and waited for Severus to continue.
“Perhaps I should show you before telling,” Severus said at last. He raised his hand to the grave, fingers spread between the thumb and index and middle and ring, then gently touched the cool stone. The surface blurred, then reshaped itself to read
Rebecca Judith Steinberg
1930-1974
Proverbs 31
The rest of the inscription was in Hebrew, a language Remus knew only through his Defence studies. Two hands in the split-finger gesture seemed to cradle the letters.
“Rivka - ?”
“Rivka bas Chaim, eshet chayil.” Severus bowed his head, eyes closed. “Or, if you prefer, 'Rebecca, daughter of Chaim, woman of valor'. My mother. She died when I was fourteen.”
“Your mother?” Remus bit back the impulse to say I didn’t know your mother was Jewish. When had he ever asked? “I didn’t know she was buried here,” he said at last. “I’m so very sorry.”
Severus made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. “One would never guess that, from the way you and your friends treated me that fall. I wasn’t in school three hours before Pettigrew hexed my satchel to turn inside out during Divination.”
Remus bared his teeth at the memory. Peter had taken the lead for once on what he called “a welcome back present for Snivellus” after the Severus had returned from summer hols wearing a black mourning band on his left sleeve. Professor Gematria had taken points from Severus for being careless with his possessions, Severus had stormed out of the room, and rumor had it that he had spent the weekend locked in the Slytherin dorm refusing to eat. Remus knew that much wasn’t true, at least - he had seen Severus in the herb garden talking with his Head of House - but the tantrum suddenly made sense. “I wasn‘t in that class - “
“Spare me, Lupin. You know you wouldn’t have lifted a finger.” The thin shoulders trembled. “This is difficult enough for me, speaking of my family to you. If I had a choice -
“Don’t. If it makes you that uncomfortable, I’ll go and fetch Albus - “ If I’d been there - if I’d known - if - if - if - He started to get up.
“No!” Snape clutched his arm hard enough to hurt. “It has to be done at sunset. There’s no time, even if you apparate.”
Remus stared at the hand gripping his arm, and then at Severus. The brilliant eyes were anything but cold tonight. “All right. Show me what I need to do.” He thought for a moment. “And before you ask, I will tell no one unless it’s absolutely necessary. My oath as a wizard.”
“Very well.” Severus relaxed his fingers, very slowly. His knuckles looked almost too large on such narrow hands. “I accept your oath.”
“Thank you.” Remus waited until Severus had turned back to the inscription to continue. “What should I do?”
Severus reached into his pocket and pulled out a stubby candle in a glass jar. “It’s called a yahrzeit - ‘year candle’ would be the best approximation in English. They’re lit on the anniversary of a relative’s death under the Jewish calendar and left to burn for a day and a night. It’s a lunar calendar, so the date will vary - you might wish to check with a synagogue to be certain.“ An ambulance swept past the cemetery. Severus ignored the ugly wail. “There’s also a prayer in Hebrew, but it can be recited in English if one does not speak Hebrew well.”
He must have loved his mother very much, to ignore a chance to make yet another tedious lunar joke. Remus watched as he set the candle on the grave and lit it with the tip of his wand. “Like me.”
“Like you and virtually the entire wizarding population of Britain,” Severus said. His lips thinned for a moment “I learned to speak Hebrew as an adult. My mother taught me by rote as a child, and only when my father was out of the house. He wanted me raised C of E, not Jewish.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
Severus shook his head. “I’m not sure he knew my mother was Jewish when he married her - her parents did their best to assimilate after the Grindelwald war. All he knew was that she was young, pureblooded, and able to bear children.” His voice dropped to a gravely whisper. “If family lore is to be believed, he never forgave her for having me circumcised. Threw the mohel bodily out of the house, or so my aunt said.” He crushed the ruined nettle in his left hand and slowly worked the ashes into the black cord of his trousers. “He even claimed she was Christian to bury her here instead of with her parents at Carterhatch Lane. Damn him.”
Remus’s own father had died soon after he had left school, bankrupted by the charlatans who had promised to cure his only child’s lycanthropy. His mother had been in America for years, a physically distant but loving presence who sent him money “to buy yourself something nice” at odd intervals and owled him warm socks and a subscription to Ars Tenebrae every Christmas. He had never doubted their love, even in the dark days right after the bite. What could he say in the face of such quiet hatred?
It was no wonder Severus had turned to the Dark. The only wonder was how Albus had managed to drag him back to the Light.
“I can brush up on my Hebrew this summer - I can read it, a bit. You’d be shocked at how many Muggles are studying Kabbala right now, and the problems it‘s caused. It seems to be quite the rage.”
“Dunderheads. Even the Dark Lord never went that far. They have no idea what could happen.” A lock of black hair fell past his cheek. Severus flipped it into place and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here’s the text in English and in Hebrew. Is there enough light for you follow along?”
“Yes.” Remus held the text at arm’s length. The Hebrew was unintelligible, but the English was clear enough. “’O God full of compassion - ‘“
“El Mal’e Rachamim, shokhen ba-meromim, ha-metze menuchah - “
Remus had always wondered at Severus’ lecture style: the smooth cadences, the near-poetic flow when he taught his beloved subject. Now he knew the source. It was the same almost music he had heard once as a boy when his father had taken him to consult a learned rabbi about the curse and they had had to wait until the end of the morning prayers. It was beautiful and harsh and guttural and made anything he’d ever heard in a church sound like a nursery rhyme. He stared at the sharp profile as Severus chanted, voice catching only on what had to be her name. The candle fluttered in the night breeze.
The last “amen” trailed into silence. Severus ran a hand over the gravestone and watched without speaking as it reformed into R. Snape. Remus waited for him to move before folding the text into eighths and tucking it into the watch pocket of his jeans.
“That’s all.” The words were barely audible. “There are other prayers, but I usually say those at home. I’m scarcely what one would call ‘observant.’”
“I don’t think God is going to strike you with lightning, Severus. You’re here, aren’t you? And isn’t that what counts?”
“One would hope.” Severus lifted his wand and stared at the inscription. “Nox.”
They sat watching the grave by candlelight until the church bell tolled ten times. Severus rose, stumbling slightly as he unfolded his legs. “I need to get back to Hogsmeade.“
“Have you eaten anything?” Remus reached out to steady him before he could bark his shins on the gravestone.
“No. I usually fast before I come here.” For once Severus looked his age, or maybe a little younger. “Thank you, Lupin - “
“I insist.” Remus had just been paid for a book review. One quick meal wouldn’t break him. “We needn’t go to Diagon Alley if you’re concerned about being seen. I know a little pub near Hanover Square. It’s nothing fancy, but the food is good.”
Severus was just enough taller to have to tilt his head down to look Remus in the eye. “Why are you doing this? Some misguided sense of comradeship?”
“Nothing like that,” said Remus. One wrong word and Severus would head straight back to Hogsmeade. “I only thought that if I’m to honour your mother, I should know more about her than her name and date of death.”
The dark hair fell forward as Severus turned to face the candle again. His cloak floated up and over his arm, still neatly folded. Remus wondered if he would ever say a word.
“It was just a thought.” Remus patted his pocket to make sure the paper was still there. “I’ll be off, then - “
“Lu - Remus?” It was the same rough whisper he had heard when Severus talked about his father. “I - I think that would be a good idea. Talking about my mother. I do need to get back to the school, but - “
“No problem. The owner is an old friend of mine. He'll make sure we're served quickly.” Remus waved the other man onto the path. Moonlight blanched the evergreens nearly white. “You needn’t give me your life story, you know. I just want to know about her.”
“Truly?”
Remus smiled up at him. “Truly. She sounds like an amazing woman. I wish I’d known her.”
“She was.” Severus took a deep breath and began to walk. Remus fell in step beside him. Their shadows merged on the macadam. “She was born in Karlsruhe, just as Grindelwald was coming to power in Germany - “
Notes: the prayer and graveside ritual are taken from Maurice Lamm's The Jewish Way in Death and Mourning. Any mistakes of interpretation are my own.
Also, this fic was originally written for
marksykins. I will be reading it at The Witching Hour in October 2005.
