Schlitzie Ramone (sweetcarolanne) wrote in slash_slash,
Schlitzie Ramone
sweetcarolanne
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Challenge Fic: Dead Awaken, Remus/Snape for dreamhunter

Title: Dead Awaken
Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Snape
Summary: Imprisoned and undead, but still in love…
Warnings: Zombie!Snape/undead!werewolf slash, horror themes, AU
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 363
Written For: The Happy October slash_slash Chain Slash Challenge, for dreamhunter
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, no profit, suing is futile!
A/N: I hope this is along the lines of what was wanted!

Severus Snape had thought he was dead, and if memory served him correctly, he was. His hands seemed thinner, pale and almost spectral; his skin no longer seemed to have the sallow tint it did in life. His body was solid, though, so he could not be a ghost. The dank stone walls around him could not be walked through, and he could see the faint glimmer of light through one barred window but not reach it.

His senses seemed muddied, and his head dinned with voices that he could not discern. They must be from the past, he reasoned, for there seemed to be nobody around him who could possibly be speaking. Yet other shapes, pallid as his own, loomed around him, however they, unlike him, appeared to exist without conscious thought.

One voice stood out in his memory, strangely familiar, its tone smooth and cold. Do not be afraid, it told him. A new Dark Lord is rising, and the undead shall serve him.

Undead – that must be what he was. An Inferius, or a zombie. Then why could he still think and feel?

Something stirred in front of him, another of the walking dead. As it shambled closer, he could just make out its features. Partially transformed – part man and part wolf, its flesh just beginning to take on a slight whiff of decay.

Remus Lupin. The man he had loved in life was reaching out to him in death, claw-like hands with blackened nails digging into his arms, attempting to pull him closer. Strange guttural sounds issued from the werewolf’s throat – he had no voice, although the eyes blazed with some kind of unearthly intelligence.

Snape felt no repulsion – he too was undead, after all, but a trace of human reluctance still remained about embracing his lover in this frightful place. But the grip on his own cold flesh was far too strong, and he felt himself pinioned by the arms of the werewolf.

As the full moon shone through the bars, he hesitantly surrendered. He would need some kind of affection to sustain him, to bolster his resistance against becoming a mindless slave of the new Dark Lord.
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