|COUNTESS ZERO (countesszero) wrote in lupin_snape,|
@ 2009-08-24 03:13:00
|Entry tags:||fic: nc17, retro fest|
Title: THE ADDICTION 01/14
Pairings: SS/ES, SS/RL, SS/SB, RL/NT
Genre: AU, Drama, Tragedy, Romance, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Challenge: Retrofest 2009 Prompt No. 05
Canon: Compliant with PS, CoS and 90% PoA compliant.
Wordcount: Approximately 3400 words
Summary: When Harry, Hermione, Ron stun Severus in the Shrieking Shack, they don't know there is a Sleeping Beauty Spell on the bed already. It interacts and Snape wakes up a woman. Remus who already is attracted to Snape finds this even more intriguing and begins to woo Snape.
Warnings: Incest, Heterosexual sex, (Child) Abuse, Drug abuse, Alcoholism, Mental illness, Non consensual sex, Sex with dubious consent, Gender switch, Attempted suicide, Character death (no main character)
A/N: At this point I would like to express my gratitude to schemingreader who has despite her very busy life supported me greatly in my first attempt of writing fanfiction.
I am not a native english speaker. My mother tongue is German, so when I write in English I first form sentences in German and then translate them. In that sense please do not hesitate to point out mistakes or correct my English.
Disclaimer: Severus Snape, Remus Lupin and all associated characters from the Harry Potter universe are the property of J.K. Rowling. The author is making no profit by this story.
Before he woke, he was floating somewhere in a deep, dark ocean, curled like a fetus in a womb, and the noise of the world was only a distant dream. All colours were soft and muted and he was safe, not born yet. His body was only forming around his tiny spirit, this small white spark of life.
He was wrapped in the steady, comforting sound of a heartbeat but slowly the sound grew fainter as he was drifting away from it and he realised that the cold feeling that gripped him from beneath like an undercurrent was fear.
He was aware he was screaming. Or maybe someone else was screaming. The sound of the terrified voice echoed and then he could hear other voices too, coming from far away.
He was pulled into the reality of a body, his body, and he could not struggle.
He was afraid.
Somebody was shouting orders.
"Hold him down! No Binding Spells, no magic directly on him, remember? Use your hands, for Merlin's sake!"
Soft hands pinned his arms to his body and the laboured breathing of a young man tickled the hair on his neck.
He heard steps and Poppy's voice - louder than the others, harshly thrown back by cold tiles.
"Spell the water clean, and you, warm it up again!"
"Should I petrify ...?" a timid voice asked.
"NO! I said no magic directly on him," Poppy snapped. "You change the water, and bring the bandages, the gauze. Hold him down. And talk to him. He can hear you. Soothe him."
And the young man started babbling nonsense - "It's alright"s and "There, there"'s to him, but Poppy was right.
It was soothing.
Somebody washed him without the use of magic, only with a soft sponge and tender caressing hands. He concentrated on opening his eyes and recognised the bathroom of the infirmary with its ghastly white tiles and sterile looking silver faucets. When the sponge moved over his chest he felt a sharp, sudden pain and he cried out and thrashed as if his limbs were pulled by strings.
He was suffering a seizure. Panic gripped him when he realised he was naked. Suddenly the air around him was soaked with dark, wild magic and with the little bit of consciousness he still possessed he realised it was his own.
He saw Poppy's face hovering over him. For only a moment, without meaning to, he slipped into her mind and saw himself, wide-eyed, and, oh god, full of blood. Everything was full of blood.
Something was wrong with his body but it was too hard to see, with all the blood.
Something was wrong.
Then he lost his hold on her again and he fell back into his own pain filled mind. Poppy held him and ordered him to breathe, in and out, in and out, in and out. She rocked him like a child and murmured a spell and he half recognised the words and knew that it would put him to sleep.
Before he lost consciousness again he glanced down and saw that the water had turned crimson and as if somebody had reversed time he saw how the Cleaning spell of the timid trainee drained the blood out of the water until it was clear again.
They bandaged his whole body and a spell cast by Poppy pinned him against the bed. Once he caught a glimpse of her face, stern with concentration. Her robes were immaculately starched and her wand was dancing, writing her magic all over him, but her gaze was almost black and red, the power of the healing magic threatening to overwhelm her.
Then the magic rose, he could feel it, but strangely he could not comprehend it. It was as if someone spoke to him in a foreign language.
He lost consciousness, and was grateful for it.
He awoke sometimes during the night, when the bandages had to be changed. Parts of his skin, blood and pus stuck on the gauze.
Poppy was chanting, and the room was filled with people, a procession of medi staff, healers, nurses and even some ministry people and Aurors. He could feel their combined magic enveloping him and wrapping him up and he could see the dirty, maroon coloured bands of gauze piled on the floor. He was fascinated by the skin and hair, the dried clots of blood on them. The pain killer potion Poppy injected him with, was strong enough to knock out a small village and he didn't feel any pain.
He felt actually elated and a little dreamy.
After a few hours though, in the dawn, the pain returned with a vengeance eventually. His body was covered in pain. He arched off the bed and must have screamed because Poppy was here again, beside him, her face a pale oval form above him in the darkness.
"More pain potion? You already had two concentrated vials injected. You should be out for three days."
But then she did give him another vial and he sighed with relief as the sweet warmth drew him down into the dreamless slumber he craved.
As he was falling though, he noticed that she was watching him warily, with narrowed eyes as if she was fighting off a headache and he made a note to himself to be careful around her.
On the third day he regained consciousness but was still drugged and meek. No snarls, no insults, no raised voice. He was quite the lamb.
Dumbledore and Poppy were here and then Poppy talked to him, explaining in cold, clinical words about dark spells and interactions and magical interferences and the unfortunate random power of teenaged wizards, and all he could do was to nod somewhat dully, his head almost lolling from one side to the other of its own accord. He couldn't even feel himself. That felt actually quite good.
Poppy's face was all harsh lines and cold blue eyes.
She barely managed to pretend to be sympathetic. Severus remembered then that despite her maternal aura she was still a scientist, filled with curiosity and typical inhumane awe.
"There was extensive shedding of your skin, which was caused by the altered spell in the Shrieking Shack. You lost a lot of blood this way. Along with the shedding there was the development of secondary female organs. The new skin is growing quite quickly. The vagina is forming since yesterday and you will experience some discomfort in these region a few more days.
"The next stage should be the development of the uterus, the ovaries, the fallopian tubes. Possibly the growth of breasts.
"The third stage will be the onset of your menstruation. If that event has occurred, your transformation will be final and irreversible."
Severus was horrified, even through his drug haze. How could she be so blasé about it?
Dumbledore was kinder, wiping the corners of Severus' mouth with a little towel when he drooled, patting his pillow.
This had to be one of Black's sadistic pranks, a trick to distract them, he wanted to tell them, but he was too weak to say anything.
The classified calming potion made him feel ethereal and content and incapable of any outbursts of cynicism. They must have given him quite an overdose of his own strongest knock out potions.
Poppy's voice was grating on his nerves. He was not interested in the causes nor her detached explanations or how he should deal with his new circumstances. And anyway, he would not deal with them.
He would get his body back.
"Please make her go away," he said to Dumbledore once, then remembered immediately that he was grown up now and not a little boy anymore. Dumbledore only smiled and Poppy nodded. None of them seemed offended.
She gave him another potion, watching him again intently, looking at the empty vial as he handed it back to her, and he wanted to defy her but he slipped away again.
The ministry sent an inquiry.
Monitoring spells had registered the bout of ancient, illegal magic. And when they had checked Hogwarts, their intelligence had come up with the mysterious disappearance of Severus Snape's magical signature.
Dumbledore was asked to clarify the situation.
The next day he visited Severus again, who was groggily staring into nothingness. Dumbledore clutched his wrist and showed him his new, unmarked skin.
"The mark is gone, Severus. I am aware of how difficult this situation is for you, but this is a blessing in disguise. You are a free man now."
Dumbledore's enthusiasm and joy contrasted sharply with Severus' apathy.
Severus lifted an eyebrow, but even this simple movement was exhausting. "There are witnesses of my continued presence at Hogwarts, Headmaster. Just because the Dark Mark is gone I will not be any safer."
"You are safe. Nobody can touch you here. But as soon as you have recovered ... as soon as you feel better, we will talk about the implications of the new circumstances."
Dumbledore got up. "You need to rest. Let us talk tomorrow. I will come back tomorrow if I may."
When Dumbledore was almost at the door Severus said: "Headmaster?"
Dumbledore turned around, warily looking at him. He knew what Severus was going to ask.
"Any news about ... Black?" It was hard to say this name and not to retch. His face twisted into a grimace of sheer hatred although he tried to keep it blank.
"We will talk about that. And more. Now rest."
Poppy came to see him the next morning.
He gave monosyllabic answers to all her inquiries but Poppy didn't care. Again she drifted off into her medi-witch's jargon, talking with professional detachment (and with thoroughly inappropriate, as Severus thought, thinly veiled enthusiasm) about the female anatomy in general, the reproductive organs and even the hymen, which made Severus cringe. She lectured him about the shortened Urethra, instructed him about how to pee and how to wipe his arse ("From the front to the back. Women are more susceptible to urinary tract infections, especially after intercourse.") and warned him not to use cleaning spells on these regions for a while but rather get to know his new body with washing these parts manually.
"About your period we can talk later, now your uterus and your ovaries are just forming."
Her voice sounded like glass in the crisp infirmary.
Severus wanted to pull the covers over his head and hide.
She put her hand briefly on his cheek, as if to check his temperature, and he forced himself not to recoil, then she turned around and left the room.
He told himself, repeatedly over the next days, that this all would pass, and he would change back, shed this revolting abomination and all of this would become a bizarre episode, something he could forget.
There was, he told himself, no need whatsoever to acquaint himself with this body.
He needed his medication. After four days Poppy had stopped giving him the knock out potions. The weaker ones didn't do anything for him. He was sweating and his skin was itching. He could not sleep.
Dumbledore visited dutifully every day and patted his hand.
They all touch me as if they had a right to touch me.
They talked about the immediate future and the actions to be taken. Severus brought up the possibility of visiting Malfoy and seeking out the Death Eaters to receive the Dark Mark again once when Voldemort would return.
Dumbledore vehemently refused.
"If I could have prevented it, you would not have taken the first time. What makes you think I let you do this a second time?"
"It wouldn't be a mistake this time. It would be a tactical manoeuvre," Severus pointed out but Dumbledore shook his head, more stubborn than Severus had ever thought him to be.
"I let you down, all these years ago, but not this time." he said. "Voldemort has yet to succeed to return to full corporeal form."
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I won't let you go to him."
Dumbledore's unexpected confession and stubbornness touched him more, than he wanted to admit to himself.
"You know that Voldemort is rising again. And when the day comes, you need me to be there. His followers are gathering again. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair ... They are getting bolder. You have read the Auror reports concerning the activities around Malfoy Manor. I know that you are not that naive, Headmaster."
"This was our plan," he said. "You wanted me there. Right at his side. I am not a pawn, headmaster. I am your knight."
Dumbledore nodded and said: "You are right, of course. But this is life, not a chess game and in life change is a constant. We do have to win, and I promise you we will not surrender, but I will not sacrifice my ... "
Severus glared at him. Dumbledore was capable to tease him and call him a "Queen".
"… Prince," Dumbledore finished and patted his head.
Severus knew he should not let himself being treated like a child, but waking up as a female after being stupefied by The Annoying Three surely was an excuse good enough to allow himself to give in.
A little, at least.
Besides–no one else was here to see it. He looked around and forced his face into his usual bitter grimace, but his heart was not in it, and on Dumbledore it was wasted anyway.
Severus' hands were lying on the bed covers and he looked at them and saw that they seemed in fact hairless and incredibly smooth, new, white skin covering the bony knuckles. He lifted his hand slowly and examined it from all sides, wondering if that really was still his hand.
If you take an axe and replace the blade, it's still your axe. But if you also replace the handle what then? Is this still the same axe?
Was his hand still his? It did look different, a little bit softer, and the skin tone was brighter. The embarrassing cuts on his wrists that had refused to heal completely through all these years, as if to remind him of his folly, his youthful, dramatic desire to join the dead, were gone now. The mark that had defined so many of his unfortunate choices, had been silently guiding the course of his life since he had been seventeen, was gone too, as if it had never existed.
Who was he now? What was he now?
"You are still the same person, Severus. Nothing will ever change that," Dumbledore said, his own old, wrinkly hand now closing over his.
Severus nodded not sure if this was a good thing after all.