SNARRY SWAP: Gift for: pennswoods, "Neither Shall Live" Title: Neither Shall Live Author:starduchess Gift Recipient:pennswoods Other pairings/threesome: None Rating: NC-17 Word count: ~7,500 Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) *Major angst, blood, violence, harsh language, dub-con, hate!sex, desk!sex, D/s, bondage, spanking, biting, humiliation, nipple torture, denied orgasm, possession, major character death.* Summary: Harry sought out Headmaster Snape to try to regain feeling in his life. The result was unexpected, and not in a good way, either. A/N: Written for pennswoods based on her prompts ANGST and HOT SMEXING! My muse kept leaving me, so I read all of Cybele’s fic If You Are Prepared while writing the latter half of this to keep me in the proper mood. Worked like a charm. Well, you asked for it; I hope you like it! A big round of thanks goes to my beta-reader, keppiehed and to the mods for hosting another terrific fest. The quote is from Buffy, but this is not a crossover fic; it just came to mind while I was creating the plot.
Neither Shall Live
"I touch the fire And it freezes me I look into it and it's black Why can't I feel? My skin should crack and peel I want the fire back!"
-Buffy Summers, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, episode #107 "Once More, With Feeling"
Wind rushed by Harry as he flew toward the spires bracketed by greying clouds, the swirling snowflakes changing to sleet as the day progressed. The land was littered with snow and barren trees. Colour had been leached out of the world, and it looked as numb and sterile as Harry felt. There was no life here. There was no life anywhere.
The students were all on holiday, and even most of the professors were off to parts unknown. Harry landed on Hogwarts' grounds, the crunching of his footsteps on the snow the only sound. He walked alone through the forecourt and pushed open the oak doors that squeaked on their hinges and echoed down the corridors. The paintings appeared dull and bored as he passed them. He climbed the stairs that he remembered loving when he first came to this school--the pivoting and changing, all this fantastic magic--and then he recalled hating them when time stretched on forever--when he was either late for class or there was trouble and he'd had to get somewhere fast. Now, there was nothing. Just endless drudgery. He could climb the steps and circle for hours and never be found, just like the pathways in his mind.
Eventually, he did end up at the Headmaster's gargoyle, who slumped in repose. Harry didn't know the password, but he didn't think it would matter.
"Excuse me. I'm here to see Headmaster Snape. May I go up?"
The guardian opened one uninterested eye. "Not a student. Heh, go on up, if it suits ya'." The stairwell turned, giving off that low grumble like a tombstone rolling away. Harry nodded and proceeded upward to the closed door. He knocked, and the door swung open of its own volition.
Snape's office was more barren than the last time Harry had been up here, just after the final battle. Many of the spinning objects Dumbledore had collected were gone. What was left was neatly accounted for and set in pristine rows. Blank parchment sat on the desktop next to quill and ink, ready for use, with a lone figurine on the opposite corner. Half the former Headmasters were asleep and the other half regarded him warily, wondering what was up that the Great Chosen One would need to come here. Snape himself could be heard rummaging in a back room.
"Headmaster Snape, may I have a word, please?" His voice shook a little. He hadn't seen the man in a few years, not since he'd been pardoned. So much lay between them that had never been said, that had never been resolved. Harry had left the memories in the pensieve, warded so only Snape could retrieve them, but he had never gone back to speak to the man, to apologize for all those trying years, to thank him for watching over him. It seemed useless now; those days were past, and Snape probably wouldn't accept the reparation anyway.
Severus Snape stepped from the storeroom with his usual grace and flowing robes, his figure fuller and better kept but his colour still pale. His beady black eyes fell upon Harry with shock, then disgust.
"I thought I had been well rid of you, Mr. Potter. To what do I owe the ... pleasure of today's visit?" The voice was bitter and raspy, the latter most likely due to lasting damage from Nagini's bite, the former due to the disruption of his arguably quiet life here.
"I have a bit of a problem, and no one else seems willing to understand. I thought you might be able to help me."
The dark wizard sneered. "Having problems with your social life, Potter? I've read all the ghastly reports of your failed dating efforts. I can't even sneeze without hearing the media speculate on your future prospects on tissues in the men's loo. Is your fame getting to you?" Snape was acting as vicious as he’d ever been. Nothing had changed.
"That's not why I'm here!"
"Then it must be the Auror training. Is the real world not as forgiving of your rule-breaking and irresponsibility as Albus was?"
"If you would shut it for a minute, I'd tell you," Harry said, annoyed at the eternal taunting. "This is something else, something ... personal."
"And you thought you'd come to me, the former spy who'd always looked after you, who'd tried to pound education into your dunderheaded skull, who'd given everything he had to fight the coming darkness and without even so much as a by-your-leave for the assistance granted."
"Hey, I made sure that you got acquitted," Harry threw out defensively, "and reinstated as Headmaster."
"Oh, yes, I thank you for that," Snape snarled. "A pat on the back and job well done and here, have some more idiots to look after." Hatred boiled in his eyes.
Harry scoffed. "Well, if you hate it that much, you should quit."
"And go where, Mr. Potter? Who would dare take a Death Eater and former spy into their employment?"
"But you're a war hero! Surely businesses would want to advertise that?"
"Easy for you to claim, Potter, but most people don't lose hold of the grudges they've developed. I was assured of the nastiest reputation for killing Albus and no amount of polite talk is going to remove that viewpoint from the public's eye. Don't kid yourself on my behalf." Snape turned around and made as if to go back into the storeroom.
"So, that's just it? You're not even going to listen?"
"There is nothing I am going to do for you, thus there is no need to waste my attention. Good day, Mr. Potter."
"Now wait a minute!" Harry moved after Snape. He noted absently that he was getting upset--a response he hadn't felt in a long time--but Snape always had brought out his anger. Maybe that's why he'd come. "I don't expect you to like me, and I don't like you, but we should be able to respect one another and I need help. You have vast experience with Dark Magic and it's a wallop of a puzzle. Might even be a nice challenge for you. Please. I can even pay you, whatever you want." Harry said this so earnestly that Snape couldn't help but take notice.
"Pay? As in go away and never darken my doorstep again nor send your bloody post addressed to my attention?" Snape's eyes bored into Harry.
"Yes, if you want."
Snape sneered. "So, what have you gotten yourself into this time, Potter? Make it quick, though. I am not a patient man."
That was for sure. Harry diverted his eyes to collect his thoughts, unclenching his hands and taking note of how sweaty they were.
"I don't know when the realization fell on me, as it took a long time to sense something was wrong. After the war, I couldn't feel anything. No textures, no sensations. I wasn't hot or cold. I knew pressure, but not the pain of, say, getting pinched. Nothing tasted good or bad. Nothing smelled at all. And I had no feelings, either. I had no urge to cry at anyone's funeral. I felt no fatherly instincts when I cared for Teddy on weekends. There was no joy for Ron and Hermione being together or when Neville and Hannah began dating."
"Those are common occurrences after the traumas of war. You don't need me; you need a psychiatrist," Snape declared coldly.
"Yes, I know that." Harry was exasperated. "And for a long time, I thought that was the case. I talked with my friends, people in the crisis help division. I even brought it up during my psych classes in the Auror program. They gave tons of suggestions and some even told me to just give it time, so I tried those things, but nothing's changed."
"Then, what gave you the puerile thought that I could help you?"
"Because you've seen what Dark Magic can do to people, and you've been through death yourself. Please."
Snape continued to berate him. "As much as I would love to spend my waking moments combing through your mind--you know how much I enjoyed that the first time--I have much work to attend to, sensitive work that needs a calmness of presence which you do not afford me."
"So you're still saying no?" Harry's eyes widened in horror as he thought Snape was turning him down.
"Yes, Potter," spat Snape. "Now, would you please take yourself elsewhere?" Again, he turned away from Harry.
Harry proceeded to grab Snape's arm. "No, wait! I need you to help me feel again. I--"
SLAP!
Both men stared hard at each other, a red mark already forming on Harry's cheek where Snape's hand had connected.
Harry was shocked at his former teacher's violence, but he was not upset by it. His face stung. It stung! It was beyond a miracle. For the first time in years, he felt physical touch. He raised his hand to the spot that was slowly heating.
Snape smirked. "What's wrong, Potter? Did my stopping of your drivel send you into catatonic shock or do you always act like a gaping fish?"
Harry didn't even try processing that whole sentence. He was too wrapped up in the possibilities. "Do that again," he said on instinct.
"What?" Snape's eyes widened fractionally. "Have you lost your bloody mind?"
"No, it's just ... I felt that. Do it again, sir." Harry stood straight, eyes beckoning for Snape to comply.
Looking like he was not entirely sure he should be performing a possible lunatic's request, but giving in anyway, Snape slapped Harry on the other cheek, then waited for the fallout.
None occurred. Harry took the blow with a small jerk and stood there examining the sensation. Both cheeks burned, but it was fading quickly.
"Again. More, Snape."
Wondering how far to take this, Snape began hitting the young man--first slaps, then real blows. Somewhere along the way, Harry began to fight back. Fists landed on both sides, snarls and grunts filling the air. Snape knocked the wind out of Harry and blood slowly trickled from a nosebleed, but each time Harry got back up again and gestured for more.
Harry's eyes lit up and his moans and gasps of pain were made moot by the smile that crept up on his face. Stinging needles and throbbing aches flared up everywhere. His pulse quickened. Warmth began to radiate outward. Finally! This was what it meant to be alive.
"Wipe that damn smirk off your face. This shouldn't be amusing," Snape scowled, confused.
Harry started giggling, which turned into laughter, albeit with a hint of hysteria.
"That's enough, Potter. I'll teach you to never rile me up again!"
Snape moved towards Harry, grabbed the messy mop of hair and yanked backwards. Harry's mouth opened in a gasp. Snape's wand was out and digging into Harry's throat before the hair-pulling had even registered in his brain. Snape dragged him over to the nearest work table and used Harry's own body to brutally sweep the contents onto the floor. Glass shattered. Potions soaked into the stones. Deadly fumes hung in the air. Pushing a struggling Harry down face-first, Snape non-verbally dispelled their clothes.
Harry was shocked at the hot touch of skin-on-skin, but he reveled in the new feelings. "Yes, Snape. Yes," he whispered.
Snape leant over him, hissing, "You want to know pain, Potter? I will show you what that means." He bit down on Harry's shoulder.
Harry screamed and bucked underneath him, the stabbing pain running straight down to his bollocks, which tightened in need. There was some primitive rightness in the fact that Snape was towering over him, overpowering him in such a carnal way. He wanted this. He wanted to be used and abused, felt he deserved it, needed it. He had caused so much pain to everyone else that this pain was justified.
Snape continued to assault the silky flesh, holding Harry down with his own body, his cock lodged against Harry's arse. "I hope you're ready to be deflowered" was the only warning he gave before spreading the legs and pushing cruelly into Harry's hole.
Intense burning erupted along Harry's spine. It forced a surrender in him that he wasn't even aware he needed to give, but give he did. Sensation over took him as the pleasure of touch intermingled with the pain of intrusion, and all piled together to drive him insane with lust. He shrieked as the older wizard pounded into him, the blood eventually acting as a lubricant of sorts, and he never once begged for it to stop. He let his submission carry his consciousness off to dark delights, relishing the loss of control, rejoicing in the scrape of nails along his back. Passion curled in his belly. Oh, this was good. He was driven to the pinnacle of ultimate satisfaction, and Harry would not give this up. He might be sick and depraved, but the chance at ecstasy loomed large.
All too soon, he was climaxing, a maelstrom of intense electricity that burned his soul and whited-out his system. Harry cried first with the joy of it, then with the realization of how far he'd fallen to get it. Panting afterward, he just laid on the table.
Snape's moved to get off Harry and felt the silent sobbing of the young man beneath him.
"Oh, do grow up, Potter. If rape wasn't what you wanted, you shouldn't have asked for it."
"No," Harry said, wiping at his hot tears. "I'm not upset that it happened, just that I enjoyed it, yearned for it, wanted it so much." His voice cracked. He was still crying, a world of ache deep in his spirit at the unfairness of it all. His hands ran through his hair. "What's wrong with me, Headmaster? Why am I so broken?"
Snape did not have an answer to the hollowness evident in those words. "You can stay in the abandoned tower in the southeast corner. I have duties to attend to now; we'll talk more tomorrow. Do pick yourself up, Potter; it's unbecoming," he sneered. "And clean up this mess!"
Harry sighed at the familiarity of that last statement.
* * * * *
"So, Mr. Potter, you say there is more than just post traumatic stress disorder going on inside your head. Please, elaborate."
Harry felt numb again. His body had ached beautifully last night and this morning, but it had dulled out again by the afternoon. He had tried to make sensation come back to him by pinching his skin, throwing himself down stairs, sticking his hands in the candle flames. Nothing. It made him feel even more dejected than when he arrived yesterday.
"Besides the lack of feeling, my nightmares are still there. They've never left."
"Again, not uncommon for the long war-time trouble you've had," Snape reasoned.
"Yes, I know, but normal nightmares like the ones I had of the Dursleys or the Tri-Wizard Tournament were always just reconstructions of things that had happened, although the events would sometimes get skewed. I would see the Killing Curse fly toward my mother only to have her morph into Cedric or Sirius. Or instead of Wormtail taking my blood, it would be Voldemort digging his fangs directly into my arm. That sort of thing."
"With time, even those should fade away, Mr. Potter. We are not here to have a pity session," Snape said coldly.
"If you would let me finish ..." Harry whinged.
"Never," Snape returned gleefully.
Harry acquired a put-upon face and continued. "Now, they are all new dreams, new people Voldemort's torturing, new places being destroyed. He taunts me, too, saying he's going to come back, that he's going to do it all again, and this time I won't be able to stop him. That's never happened in a dream before. And he worms his way inside my mind or under my skin, and then I'm doing all these awful things and laughing maniacally, and I can't stop." Strain and heartbreak were written all over his face and his eyes were haunted and disturbed. His muscles were taut from the effort to keep from crying.
Snape remained cold and aloof. "And you have told no one about this?"
"Yes, I have," replied Harry. "I've tried explaining it to lots of professionals, but no one listens. In fact, no one ever listens. I speak and my words don't mean anything. I try to make jokes or laugh about the war and people just stare at me. I try to give my opinions on revamping the Ministry or the rebuilding of Hogwarts and everyone ignores me. I say important stuff, life-altering things, and they just laugh and blow it off. I feel completely alone in a room full of people."
"We are all alone, Potter," Snape interrupted in disgust. "We are separate entities, not part of a collective. The sooner you realise that, the sooner your healing can begin."
"But how can I heal when I'm not even alive?" Harry yelled.
This took Snape aback. "What the Dickens are you talking about? Of course, you're alive. You are breathing and sitting there taking up space--not to mention my valuable time--and drinking tea. I assume you use the loo as well, although some potted flora would probably suffice now and then. What part of that have you failed to notice?"
"Maybe the part where I stick my hands in the fire and don't get burned," Harry fumed. "Or maybe that I can't sense Hogwarts like I used to--her magic, her presence in the walls. I feel like a ghost. Yesterday was the first real sensation I've had in a long time."
Harry believed what he was saying and desperately wanted the more-experienced wizard to know it. A little experimentation was needed.
"So, do you not feel this?" Snape poked Harry in the bicep firmly, but not aggressively.
Harry shook his head. "Nope. I feel the pressure but there's no pain. It's all just numb."
Snape then took a candle and held the flame to Harry's wrist.
Again, Harry shook his head. "Still nothing." The skin wasn't even blackening.
"But you can feel it when I do this?" Snape continued investigating, running a finger lightly across his cheek and down to the sensitive skin below the ear.
A small shiver went through Harry and landed straight in his groin. "Yeah, a little."
"And this?" Snape scratched his fingers down Harry's back, digging hard.
Harry gasped at the painful pressure, his bollocks tightening with beginning lust. "Yes, much."
"And what about this?" Viciously, Snape pinched one nipple through Harry's robes and pulled it upward.
Sharp pain raced through Harry, who inhaled again. "Yes! Gods, Snape."
Growling, Snape yanked his hand away. "Funny, Potter. I wouldn't have taken you for a masochist."
Harry screwed his eyes closed as tears filled them. "I'm not," he spoke brokenly. "I just want to feel again, and it seems to be the only way I can."
"I've never heard of a condition like this. Perhaps St. Mungo's would be better suited for this task."
"I've tried them," Harry stated. "Mind healers, skin healers, even Muggle nerve doctors. None of them could find anything wrong, so I gave up and came to you, hoping there might be a rare potion or Dark Magic or something that could help."
"My knowledge is vast and extensive," Snape said with arrogance and pride, "yet there is no general information about these symptoms. Your experience is always unique, Mr. Potter. Such a study might afford me a place in the Wizarding medical journals, so I might be persuaded to look into areas of specialty expertise."
"Thank you, sir. I'll pay anything, just say how much."
"I don't want money, Potter."
"No?"
"No. I want retribution. You want to feel again; I want payback taken out on your hide. Seems mutually beneficial, does it not?"
Harry's eyes widened at the implied cruelty, but with Gryffindor determination he wouldn't back away from his goal. "Okay. Fine."
A wicked gleam appeared in the older man's eyes. "Then strip. Slowly."
Nervous as all hell, Harry began to remove his garments. He could sense the man's cold glare upon him as he revealed each inch of skin, and the fact that it was hate-filled was more of a turn-on than he expected. He was humiliated that it was Snape, of all people, watching him undress, but the rush of blood in his cheeks was so warm and welcome that he didn't care. No one else ever looked at him like that. All they saw was a deranged hero. A pang of hurt and loneliness flashed through him so deep that he had to close his eyes against the tears.
"Humiliating enough for you, Potter? To have your hated Potions Master enjoying your discomfort?"
The tears really did fall. "Just touch me, please," he said as he pushed the trousers off his hips, taking the boxers with them. After removing stockings and trainers, Harry stood back up, displaying a semi-hard cock.
Snape was half-smiling with delight. It was an evil grin. "Turn around and drape yourself over the back of that chair. I want to see your arse up in the air, your feet on tiptoe, your hands grasping the chair arms and your head hanging in full submission. You may beg, cry, scream, moan--whatever sounds you fancy--but you may not move from that position."
Harry was almost hyperventilating by the end of the order. It was more than he'd ever been asked to do before, but he had already accepted the terms and conditions. He had to follow through. With real fear, he stepped up to the furniture and ran his hand along the rough wood. The back was not so very tall, but his small stature forced him to stand high on the balls of his feet just to get his rear in the air. Bent over, his head almost touched the seat. It was a truly humiliating pose. His bollocks tightened at the thought of how exposed he was, and it was with further horror that he realised his prick would be scraped raw on the solid back of the chair. A rush of adrenalin coursed through him, and he was hard already.
Snape removed his belt, taking a moment to stroke his own erection. With careful aim and without warning, he brought the leather strap down onto Harry's buttocks. Harry’s scream filled the room like music.
Harry was overwhelmed by the sting of the belt. He had been spanked before by the Dursleys and it had hurt, but never like this. This sting lingered for longer than he could comfortably take and with it brought intense sexual urges, each fading to a dull throb. The force was enough to press his cock into the wood, increasing his ardour and joining the pain with pleasure. As each blow landed, he felt himself get redder and hotter and hornier.
Slowly, he lost reality until he was a moaning, writhing mass of need kept at the brink of the abyss by the pain in his arse. "Please ..." he begged.
The leather was replaced by skin, Snape's hands digging painfully into his abused mounds. The pain spiked and Harry screamed again. Snape's cock filled the arsehole that was open and pleading for it, and the man went straight for a brutal pounding. Harry's senses spun out of control as the lines of passion blurred. Harry's prick was stroked hard against the chair, and within moments he was spasming in orgasm. His muscles clamped down hard around Snape, whose own control was slipping into oblivion.
Their joining was hot and cruel, but ultimately what he wanted. Harry's lower half was raw and sore, and he hung his head in shame for his enjoyment of it. Yet if this was what it took to feel again, he would gladly continue to debase himself.
After cleaning up, Snape sent Harry away with orders for the proper care of his welts and the suggestion that he get his nipples pierced and maybe a tattoo in the coming days. Harry wasn't sure it would help, but he would try anything to keep this new phenomenon going.
* * * * *
Weeks went by in slow fashion. Snape complained about his work being interrupted but he never refused Harry's presence; he just channeled his irritability into sexual domination. Harry was humiliated, forced into submissions of trust and then cruelly pushed to the limits of his endurance. The young man left bruised, battered, and bloodied, but he always came back begging for more.
Harry could feel himself falling. Tears of relief and bereavement coursed down his face. Nothing else made him feel, nothing but Snape's harsh words and calloused hands, nothing but the searing pain upon his back and buttocks and the thick cock lodged in his arse. It was becoming a drug to which he increasingly turned for sustenance, pleading for more.
Unfortunately, instead of feeling more alive outside of the Headmaster's rooms, he felt deader.
And there was a new, worse development.
"My scar has been hurting again."
"Hm, I had been meaning to ask you about that. What do you feel and when?"
"It comes upon me suddenly--I don't know, anytime. A sudden, sharp piercing followed by waves of nausea. I have to fight the urge to sick up. And I can sense a presence there sometimes, just to the side, out of sight. It's evil and horrible and I shake badly when it's there."
Snape asked warily, "What do you think it is?"
"This's crazy, but ... I think it's Voldemort."
Snape flinched at the name. "Impossible. You finished him off."
"I'm not so sure. I've been running through my talks with Dumbledore in my head and things don't add up. ‘One cannot live while the other survives.’ At first I took that to mean I wasn't allowed a normal life until his was over. But his was over at the attack when I was one; yet with the Horcruxes, his spirit remained here. Then he regained a body by taking my blood in the graveyard, binding us even further. He couldn't die because I had his soul in my scar and I was still alive. I couldn't die because he had my blood and he was still alive. Don't you see? Neither of us can die unless we die together."
"What are you suggesting?" If what Harry was implying was true, a darker turn of events was unfolding.
"I ... I think he's still here," he whispered. Harry's eyes were wide and frightened, and he was trembling. "We got rid of all the others, but since I'm not fully dead yet, neither is he."
"Ridiculous!" shouted Snape. This couldn't be happening. They had climbed insurmountable peaks to be able to end the Dark Lord. It was horrible to think that it might not yet be over, that even after all those sacrifices the monster might still be among them. They thought they were safe. They all thought they were done. "You allowed the Dark Lord to fire the Killing Curse at you. That should have killed the soul piece."
Harry was holding himself tight with his arms crossed, a protective gesture. "I'm not so sure," he repeated.
"Then we need to make sure. I will begin researching the Horcruxes."
"Hermione took all the books on that subject she could from Hogwarts' library when we went on our hunt. I'll make sure she returned them. She never mentioned anything about it to me, so maybe there is nothing else known?"
Snape thought for a moment. "Perhaps that is all there is here, but there are other centers of learning around the world. I will write to those scholars in charge and see what collaborations come about. In the meantime, get some rest. If it happens again, try to come here. I would examine you."
Harry put a weary hand to his head. "I'll try. Thank you, sir."
* * * * *
"I've spent weeks researching every library in Europe and the Middle East. There were mentions of immortality magic in Egypt with the Pharaohs, so much so that it bled into the Muggle half of their society. It caused the elite to bury trinkets and pets along with their dead, but there is no mention of Horcruxes used specifically. The rest of Europe hasn't seen that level of evil magic except for Grindelwald's reign, although his concern wasn't for immortality, but invincibility. There is evidence of Dark Lords in ancient Aztec civilizations, but no known texts have survived. I have yet to look into the Hindu and Oriental systems. I doubt the Orient will have anything, as they are deeply spiritual and would be horrified by such a concept. The views on reincarnation in India, however, may play a factor in their knowledge of such arts."
"So, we still don't know anything, yet I'm getting worse. Can't you work any faster?"
"I am already reading as fast as I can and in every off moment I have."
"Maybe if we call in more people ..."
"Don't get uppity with me! There is no one else who would help."
"Of course not," Harry sighed bitterly. "No one cares about a used-up hero."
"Stop it, Potter! You think this is all about you? The reason there's no one to help is that nobody trusts me. My duty in killing Albus insured that!"
"But surely, if you use my name--"
"Then they'll be doubly suspicious!"
"But I died for everyone; they should listen to me! But of course they don't. They don't ever." Haunted visions swam before his eyes. "I mean, sure, they care that I freed them--they care that I won--but no one cares that I died, about what that means for me."
"I almost died, too, but I don't snivel about it and expect the whole world to bow at my feet."
"I never meant--"
"Besides," Snape went on coldly, "as long as the end result was an easier life for them, they don't care how that was accomplished. They don't care about your pathetic personal life and, frankly, neither do I."
That hurt.
"After all you did to save me--after all we're doing now--I still don't matter to you." Harry was dejected, lost, grieving his own death.
Agony welled up from his chest. "Kill me, please, Snape! I can't do this anymore. I can't live like this. I'm not even supposed to be alive! Even the stupid prophecy said so." Tears began running out the corners of his eyes.
"Coward! Is this what the brave Gryffindors are about, folding when it gets tough? You talk about not standing this pain, but I lived with it for years--a decade and a half!"
Harry's voice cracked as he yelled back at Snape. "You sodding git! You had something to fight for! You had your love for my mother and the chance for atonement! You got to stab Voldemort in the back and become a hero ..."
"To no one but you! Everyone else still sees me as a Death Eater." Snape raged so much that the vein in his head stood out. "You are the one who won against the Dark Lord, Potter. You are the one who gets to go free and make a new life for yourself."
The wind was released from Harry's sails, and his eyes dulled. "You're wrong. I'm not free. I still hear him inside my head. I still see him in my nightmares, and my scar is getting worse. I really am a freak." His speech ended in a whisper.
"Go back to your room, Potter. This isn't helping. I have further studies to research, and you need rest more than anything."
Harry looked at him with resentful eyes. "That's right. Go shut yourself up out of the way, Potter," he said in a mockery of Snape's tone. "No one wants a possibly-insane, super-powerful wizard nearby. No one wants me, again."
He got up and walked bitterly out of the office, Snape's obsidian gaze hard at his back.
* * * * *
Harry felt vulnerable and exposed. He had removed his outer robes and inner shirt, along with his socks and shoes, and stood slightly spread-eagled in only his jeans. Snape had leered at the shiny nipple rings and matching navel ring Harry now sported, wicked intent appearing in the dark eyes.
"Such a pretty sight, Mr. Potter, but we can do better than that." With a flick of his wand, hemp rope wound itself around Harry's torso, and his arms were wrenched back and secured, pushing his chest out in subtle readiness for the abuses to come. Snape then took a red sash and wrapped it around Harry's head, blindfolding him, and tied one end down to the rope, effectively pulling Harry's head back into a very open pose.
Harry was already trembling in his bindings with the issues of humiliation and trust, mortified at his own arousal. It horrified him that he enjoyed this lack of control and was looking forward to more. His body hummed with the need for touch, whether it be harsh or gentle, the only reminder that he was still alive.
Snape ghosted his hands over the young man's arms, sending shivers of anticipation directly to sensitive erogenous zones. He began kissing Harry at his hairline just above the splash of red and trailed his lips down the face to the joining of neck and clavicle. Waves of glorious sensation passed through Harry, hardening the erection that was painfully constricted in his jeans. Snape's long fingers massaged the outside of his thighs, ignoring the arousal yearning to get out, and instead cupped and squeezed the mounds of Harry's buttocks. Harry moaned and thrust forward, trying to find friction.
"I'm not sure those revolting Muggle clothes are helping or hindering your progress. Perhaps we’d better divest you of them." The gravelly voice at his ear shot straight to his prick, and Harry rocked his assent. Snape slid his hands around to the front, caressing the musculature that was at his disposal, and undid the denim's one button. Slowly, Harry's discomfort evident in shakes and soft moans, Snape inched the zipper down halfway.
One side of the jeans flapped down, divulging the top of a black-inked letter 'D'. Pushing the rest of the fabric away, Snape could see the remaining part, an attached capital 'A'.
"Interesting tattoo, Mr. Potter. I think I will have to punish it, though, for not saying 'Snape's Army'." He immediately attached a cord to Harry's left nipple and yanked it sideways. Harry's mouth opened on a gasp as pinpricks rushed through him.
He knew he needed this punishing. That was something he'd finally come to terms with over the past months. The deaths of his parents, Cedric, his godfathers and Tonks, many students and adults, and even Dumbledore had always weighed heavily upon his conscience, and finally he was paying the price for them. That it was his only feeling compounded the result. He would revel in this gratification of the flesh while at the same time chastising himself for still being alive. It seemed fitting for his life.
Snape continued to play Harry's body like a broken instrument, walking around the figure, sometimes stroking, sometimes fiddling, often times scratching out different tunes. He didn't release Harry's cock after all, keeping it bound within the thick material, and he refused to touch it.
Harry strained, and the more he was denied, the more he wanted it. He began to shame himself by begging and pleading for touch and release, for anything more than these light teases.
Stopping before his bound prisoner, Snape finally took some pity and bit down on a nipple.
Harry bucked and cried out as the jolt of electricity flared through his system. "Merlin, more Snape, please!" He ached in his groin, the minute shifts of friction on his cock sending burning flames within him. He whimpered when Snape snuck his hands inside the jeans and pinched his buttocks, pulling the fabric even tighter against his erection. He groaned. "Please, more."
"What would your mother think, Potter, if she could see you right now? To say nothing of your father listening to you beg to be tortured and abused," Snape sneered.
A blush of disgrace heated Harry’s body. Tears formed in his eyes behind the blindfold. "Fuck you," Harry whispered.
"Actually, I intend to fuck you, as has become our habit." Snape suddenly pulled the jeans straight down. The zipper caught on some of Harry's groin hairs and ripped them out as it was tugged away. Harry gave a shout at the intense pain and almost fell over.
Snape caught him and walked him over to a small table, pushing him onto his belly. It was so narrow that Harry's head and upper torso did not fit on it. The bindings were the only things keeping his body upright, but it was awkward and cramping, so Harry was grateful for the distraction when the first blows landed on his arse. The Headmaster kept up a steady pace, the burning heat beginning low in Harry's body. Occasionally, Snape would yank the chain still attached to the one nipple, eventually attaching a second to the other. The pulls speared lightning down Harry's nerves, causing Harry's prick to jump with need.
At some point, Harry felt Snape push into him while never stopping the blows to his lower back. Snape set up a rocking motion which fueled Harry's passion but did not increase it. The denial of ecstasy infuriated Harry, who started babbling incoherently at the injustice of the Potions Master's ministrations. Snape laughed condescendingly and snapped the chains backward, forcing Harry to arch away from the table. Small sobs of frustration formed in Harry's lungs.
The realization hit him that this sexual play was going to be the only sensation Harry would ever have anymore in his life. He was not getting better. He was never going to get better. Crying in earnest now, he gave over to the sorrow inside that was crashing his soul onto jagged rocks of reality.
He could tell that Snape didn't even care.
Without warning, Harry's scar burst with pain, and he started screaming and writhing from a psychic attack. He began hissing in parseltongue.
Snape had thought the young Gryffindor had lost this ability when he offed the Dark Lord or, at least, that's what he’d assumed, for the alternative was too frightening, but apparently he’d been wrong. Snape tried to quiet him, pushing his body firmly into Harry's to still him. He ran his hands over Harry's hair and face, trying to smooth the lines of agony away.
Suddenly Harry grasped Snape's shoulders in a death grip, the fingernails digging into the flesh, and hissed, "SSEVERUSSS!"
Snape flinched. That was not Harry's voice. He tried to get away, but Harry held fast, still spouting, "SSEVERUSSS! TRAITOR!"
Snape gave up struggling and just pointed his wand at the younger wizard. He cast Stupefy just as Harry's eyelids popped open, revealing red irises and pupils that were dilating into vertical slits, snake-like.
Harry went unconscious and slumped onto the desk.
Snape pushed away, panting, terror and shock racing through every corner of his being. Harry was right. A piece of that monster's soul was still there.
Harry was still a Horcrux.
Snape had no idea how to deal with this knowledge. Instead, he poured Dreamless Sleep down the other wizard's throat and Floo'd Harry back to his rooms, where Harry lay death-like upon the bed.
* * * * *
Harry woke feeling terrible and not in a good way this time. Memory flared in his brain as he recalled his scar searing and maniacal laughter ringing inside as an evil presence invaded his senses. He knew it was Voldemort rising to ascendency, and Harry was frightened that it had happened so quickly. It struck him that if he didn't die soon, Voldemort would completely take him over and start a new assault on the Wizarding world. He couldn't let that happen, so he went in search of the Headmaster.
Snape was in his potions laboratory busily working. One look at the young wizard's haunted expression and he knew that Harry had come to him for his second death. Snape tried to dissuade him, but Harry would not let him.
"Don't, Snape," Harry snarled. "You couldn't be arsed to care before, so don't start now. I'm already damned, and there's nothing to be done about it except to kill me. So come on. Let's get this over with." He stood defiantly in front of Snape, looking ready for battle, tears of rage filling his eyes.
"I can't do it, Potter. You would be damning me as well!"
"What about the world then? What about all we fought for? Are you just going to sit by and let Him take over in the end? Or is it just that you won't perform one lousy spell for me that you could for Dumbledore? Maybe you are a coward after all."
"Never call me that again!"
Snape's wand was out, and he blasted Harry across the room before the spell even registered.
Harry struck the vials and cauldrons stacked along the wall, the shelves collapsing and shards of glass flying everywhere.
Harry's eyes snapped open again, turning red with pain. He hissed as he lunged forward, "SSEVERUSSS, I WILL KILL YOU!" Harry's wand was out and crackling with uncontrolled magic.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Snape tried, but the spell missed.
They circled around each other while firing curses, which knocked over supplies and blasted holes in the walls.
Harry's faster body, honed by years of Seeker and Auror training, darted past tables and caught the Potions Master on a corner. His face filled with evil delight, thinking that he was about to have his revenge on the spy, but Snape's reflexes were still sharp. He brushed Harry's wand arm out of the way and simultaneously thrust his wand toward Harry's chest. Harry's momentum propelled him forward and impaled him on Snape's wand. His body stopped when it collided with Snape's.
The older wizard could tell Harry was going into shock as his body went cold and limp, but the red refused to drain out of the irises. Under his breath, Snape chanted, "Avada Kedavra."
The luminescent green of the Killing Curse pushed out the screaming soul of Voldemort, and for a brief instant, it enhanced the darker green of Harry's natural eyes before it stole the life from them as well.
The gaze went blank. The corpse fell to the ground.
Snape sank with it to his knees, shaking uncontrollably, never noticing that he was sobbing.
Lily’s son was dead, and life would never be the same again.