snapetoy (snapetoy) wrote in churchofsnarry, @ 2006-05-31 22:57:00 |
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Original poster: reddwarfer
Title: Auto da fé
Team Angst prompt: Benediction
Rating R for violence
Word Count: 6,934
Betas: djin7 and amanuensis1. Thank you both. A special thanks to vain for her inspiration on a specific aspect of this story.
Summary: Snape looked on as that small, frowning mouth murmured prayer after silent prayer, listing all of the sins he'd committed, and some that he hadn't.
Disclaimer JKR owns the Potterverse
Written for: teamangst and the snarry_olympics and djin7 especially.
Harry knelt before the altar under the watchful gaze of a man in black robes, whispering "Forgive me, God, for I have sinned." He then bowed his head in silent prayer, twisting and turning the beads in his hands. Snape looked on as that small, frowning mouth murmured prayer after silent prayer, listing all of the sins he'd committed, and some that he hadn't.
Snape had wondered where Potter had discovered this strange obsession with that religion in which he'd immersed himself after the war. Wanting to stop him now, or the self-chastisement would go on all night, Snape moved nearer to the boy. Staring at the shrine to Potter's self-hatred, he once again thought that he should have ripped out the bloody thing right out after Potter created it.
Snape sneered, "Enough of this foolishness, Potter." He turned and stalked away, leaving the boy to kneel on the cold floor. Snape wanted to ask him why. It made him angry that he cared enough to want that answer, and he was at a loss as to why Potter, of all people, should be this way.
It was times like these that made Snape hate whatever deity deemed him the boy's keeper. Technically, he was the prisoner, but fate was a cruel mistress. Potter was clearly broken, but as long as their whipping boy did their bidding, the Ministry turned a blind-eye to his problems and eccentricities.
It's like those fucking bastards, Snape thought uncharitably, if not accurately, destroy the boy, then leave someone else to deal with the wreckage.
It wasn't as if Snape thought him irreparable, but the fallout caused by the pressure Potter had been under was severe, and Snape seemed to be the only one to see. Before he felt too much sympathy for the boy, he took a moment to remind himself that he was the victim there as well. He had his crosses to bear; his own sins, no one cared about his onerous burden, they only cared about what he would do to atone. An epiphany that reminded him of his own insurmountable struggle and it suddenly reminded him how much he hated Potter, the son, as much as he did the father.
When he turned back, he found Potter had already stripped out of his shirt and was using the cat o' nine tails. Rage coursed through him, how dare Potter act as if he had a right to all this self-hatred.
"ENOUGH!" he roared as he yanked Potter to his feet. His knuckles were white with pressure as he gripped Potter's arm. Potter looked up at him in question, but didn't speak. He allowed himself to be dragged down the hall, and unceremoniously tossed onto his bed.
Snape's jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together. He absolutely refused to say a thing. There would be no more discussion. He swiftly healed the wounds, and put a nightshirt over Potter's head, roughly yanked the duvet over him and glared at him in a way that clearly meant, If you take one bloody step out of bed, you'll find yourself on the wrong end of my wand.
Potter relented, closed his eyes, and fell asleep within moments, leaving Snape alone in his impotent anger and dissatisfaction.
The next morning, they both stuck to their routine, neither acknowledging the previous evening’s events.