Home | Members | Help | Submission Rules | Log In |
Recently Added | Categories | Titles | Completed Fics | Random Fic | Search | Top Fictions
SS-Centric

The Last Boat by Persephone Lupin [Reviews - 4]

>>

Would you like to submit a review?

Chapter 1: Going down


Take me down to my boat on the river
I need to go down, I need to come down



The huge lake lay calm and flat, not a single ripple disturbing the perfect smoothness of its silvery-black surface. An eerie quiet had fallen over the late October night after the sun had bled its last rays of light into the still water. It was as if time stood still. As still as the solitary figure, who was standing tall and black against the darkening sky, motionlessly gazing over the lake.

The timelessness of the moment was broken when the man turned around abruptly and strode over to the little boathouse situated at the end of a wooden landing stage protruding into the wet vastness.

With a whispered “Alohomora”, he opened the door to the little shack. Students were not allowed to use those boats on their own, and actually they were only ever taken out of the boathouse for taking the first years over to the castle when they started their schooling. But he was no student anymore, no. He was a criminal, a murderer, anyway, so stealing a boat would hardly matter on his record. Yes, this was his boat, his last boat, and then it would be over.


Take me back to my boat on the river
And I won't cry out anymore



Gripping the oars with slender but strong hands, he rowed out onto the silent lake, farther and farther away from the shore, where ancient willows were dipping their leafless branches into the water, tickling its immaculate surface, and little waves gently caressed the sand. Knowing that both students and staff would be at the Halloween feast, he had taken his time to savor all this for one last time, to say goodbye. It was a perfect night to die.


Oh the river is wide
The river it touches my life
Like the waves on the sand



How ironic, and at the same time appropriate, that his first great fear, his first great enemy, would be his last friend. He was feeling so calm, almost comfortable, on the water, knowing he would be dead before the night was over. He, who usually would have panicked even at the thought of mounting a boat. Who actually had panicked upon realizing that they had to cross the lake to reach Hogwarts some ten years ago. He had remained standing at the shore, frozen, the excited chatter and giggles of the other first years nothing but a faint whisper in the back of his paralyzed mind. When repeated shouts to ‘‘urry up an’ get into one of the boats a’ready’ had finally pierced through the numbness in his brain, he had started to tremble all over, tears of fear and shame flooding his eyes. Why had this to happen to him? He had been so excited and proud when receiving his Hogwarts letter. Finally, he would get away from his dreary, oppressive home, from the constant fights between his parents, from his father who had never a good word for him, from the Dark Arts lessons and the inevitable punishment when he failed to fulfill his sire’s expectations. He would be together with kids his own age for the first time in his life, and probably he would even find some friends. Only he would never get there. He couldn’t cross this lake.


And all roads lead to tranquility base
Where the frown on my face disappears



Suddenly, huge warm hands had picked him up, cradled his shaking form to an enormous chest, and carried him over to one of the boats. ‘You afraid of the water, little un? You’re safe with ol’ Hagrid, don’ you worry. I keep you safe.’ All through the journey over the lake, the half-giant had kept on talking to him soothingly, holding him tight like a little child, while he was sobbing into his robes. Luckily he had been too distressed then to notice the other kids’ snickering, but he should soon find out. While waiting to be called into the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony, quite a few of his year-mates were staring at him, whispering to each other and snickering behind raised hands. One boy with messy black hair and glasses didn’t even bother to lower his voice when pointing at him. ‘Hope cry-baby won’t be sorted into our house, I’d die of shame!’ the words still echoed through his mind. ‘No way little Snivellus will get into Gryffindor, it’s the house of the brave, and that’s where we’re going, mate!’ assured another, equally black-haired boy, looking at him in disgust. And the boy was right. He was a pathetic failure, exactly as his father had always told him, and nobody would want to be friends with a boy who turned into a quivering heap of misery, almost wetting his pants in front of all his classmates when simply asked to mount a boat. Who couldn’t even bring himself to wash his hair because he would panic as soon as the first drops of water touched his face ...


Take me back to my boat on the river
And I won't cry out anymore



This night, however, was different. And it wasn’t only the alcohol that made the difference. Surely, it did help to go through with his plan, to just let go without a fight, without panicking. Nevertheless, his strange calmness owed more to the fact that he had finally given up, had accepted what would never change. He would never have friends who were his friends just because they liked him, without any ulterior motives. Back in school they had only used him, he knew that now, and now with his Death Eater comrades it wasn’t any different. And his father – whatever he did, he would never gain his respect, his love, the two things he had longed for most in his life. He had become a Death Eater to make his father proud. And again, he had failed. He had no scruples about killing a man in combat, wand against wand, and he had done so more than once. But he couldn’t torture, or rape, or murder children, no matter what. It wasn’t right, and he just couldn’t do it. Even watching it made him want to vomit, and as soon as the Dark Lord had become aware of his weakness, he had taken great pleasure in torturing and humiliating him by forcing him to watch, to do what he couldn’t until he couldn’t help but break down, throwing his guts up. And his comrades had laughed at him, every single one. Like at school. But soon they wouldn’t laugh anymore. The letter to Dumbledore was on its way, and by tomorrow morning the old headmaster would be in the possession of a long list of names, places, dates that would be a most valuable weapon against the Dark Lord and his minions. It would wipe the laugh off their faces, and it would be he who laughed last when they all met in hell.


Time stands still as I gaze in her waters
She eases me down, touching me gently



He had reached the middle of the lake, and deep inside he felt as tranquil as the deep dark water, as the stars that had appeared on the black velvet of the nightly sky. Drinking the last drops of the Firewhisky he had brought along, he looked up at the full moon that painted a silver path on the lake’s surface. His second great fear would be howling at this very same moon now, hopefully securely restrained in some far away place. Ever since his encounter with the werewolf, after almost having been killed by it, he hadn’t dared to look at the full moon, had hid from it knowing it would bring back the memories, the horrible image of the werewolf’s fangs dripping with poisonous saliva just inches from his throat. He had passed out then from sheer terror, and never knew how James-Bloody-Potter had managed to rescue him without getting the both of them killed by his monster-friend. Nobody had bothered to tell him, the victim. A single stunning spell would not work with a werewolf in bloodlust, he had tried it himself when the animal had charged, before he had gone into shock, unable to move a single finger, let alone his wand. Nobody had bothered to punish the perpetrators, either. As always. Potter and his gang, the precious Golden Gryffindors, were allowed to bully, to humiliate, and to try to kill the greasy little Slytherin oddball as ever they wished. Dumbledore, who had made him swear never to tell about Lupin’s secret, hadn’t even deemed his life worth as much as giving a detention. And now he would help those Gryffindors he had loathed with every fiber of his being win this blasted war. Another twist of irony. However, it was the only way to gain this fragile peace of mind before he left his pathetic excuse of a life behind. Knowing he had done something right at last. Something that would help destroy the third horror of his life, the Dark Lord, his master.


With the waters that flow past my boat on the river
So I won't cry out anymore



It was time. Now he would finish what his father had begun fifteen years ago. With a last glance at the moon, he stood up in the swaying boat, raised his arms over his head, his wand in one hand, and chanted the charm that would make the boat slowly dissolve under his feet. He had never learned how to swim after his father had almost drowned him at the age of five to test whether he was magical or a Squib. His mother had rescued him in the very last moment, causing another violent fight, and he had ended up a water-phobic. He would go under like a stone in his heavy black robes and cloak never to show up again.


Take me back to my boat on the river
And I won't cry out anymore



As the water slowly entered the leaky boat, touching his naked feet, he almost felt relaxed, in spite of the cold. It wouldn’t be long now ...


Oh the river is deep
The river it touches my life
Like the waves on the sand
And all roads lead to tranquility base
Where the frown on my face disappears

Take me back to my boat on the river
And I won't cry out anymore
And I won't cry out anymore
And I won't cry out anymore....





The Last Boat by Persephone Lupin [Reviews - 4]

>>

Disclaimers
Terms of Use
Credits

Copyright © 2003-2007 Sycophant Hex
All rights reserved