snarrymod (snarrymod) wrote in snarry_games, @ 2006-04-22 22:37:00 |
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Original poster: snarrymod
Title: Always Hungry
Author: melora98
Prompt: Team Angst, Always Hungry
Word count: 6,671
Betas: ac1d6urn, as well as the whole teamangst team! Thanks everyone!
Rating/Warnings: Warnings/Kinks/Ratings pop up
**
The pit was about two metres wide. Harry couldn't tell how deep it was. He stood upright, stretched out, and jumped as high as he could but still didn't touch the ceiling. He concluded that the only entrance to this place was above his head, too high to reach. Of course it would be. He still had a bump on his head from hitting the floor when he fell and bruises on his arms and back. He was trapped in the bottom of a narrow well.
He listened intently to the silence around him, listening for that telltale scrape of a boot, swirl of a robe somewhere far above indicating the Death Eaters' arrival, and then the curses and the beginning of the agonizing torture would begin, any minute now. But he didn't hear a sound. He'd examined his cell by feel many times and couldn't find anything but unbroken, smooth stone. The walls were cool and damp with condensation; he brushed his fingers over the walls, collected the moisture and licked off the drops until
the water with the gritty, mineral taste eased his sore, parched throat.
Harry decided that he despised small, dark spaces. First the cupboard, and now this hole. He found the bent frame of his glasses on the floor and almost cut himself on the shards of the broken lenses when he tried to pick them up. They would have beenuseless anyway, in this absolute darkness. His eyes strained for some hint of light, but there was none. He had slept in nightmarish fits on the hard, wet floor, but always woke without feeling rested at all. With every awakening he felt weaker, and bouts of dizziness
continued to overcome him until they caused him to double over and vomit bile. Dry heaving spasms left his throat sore and his middle aching. He craved more water; he was confused and angry and exhausted, but it was hunger that felt the worst.
But there was no water, other than the condensation on the wall, and no food. No one came to check on him with a prisoner's rations – no dirty cups or mouldy crusts of bread. He had scrabbled about on the floor, in the corners, searching for signs of rats or bugs which he was sure now he might be able to stomach out of desperation. If Sirius could survive that way, so can I. If only I still had my wand.
He couldn't remember what happened to his wand. Did the Death Eaters take it before they threw me down here? Some whispering, self-hating part of his brain insisted that he'd probably dropped it. Either way it was hopeless. His magic did not seem to work. He'd tried some wandless spells, but only succeeded in giving himself a headache. He was as worthless as a squib trapped in here, and the pit might've turned him
into one for all he knew.
Harry didn't know how long it had been. He slept, jerked awake, his mind spun. Walking around the small perimeter of the cell exhausted him and he would collapse flat on his back, staring up into the darkness until fitful sleep caught him again.
He wished he could remember how he ended up here. Must be a Confundus Charm... All he knew was he had escaped away from the Order, at last, after being held back and held back and held back from fighting. Their last resort. Dumbledore's secret weapon.
He'd gone through the Auror training, which had stripped from him layer after layer of the hopes he'd had for a normal future, after all of this was done. He watched people he knew – his friends – die, picked off one by one by the enemy he was not yet allowed to fight. Horcruxes were found and destroyed without his help, as the Order numbers dwindled in the process. They wouldn't tell him how they died – "... there's no need to be alarmed, Harry..." – but wasn't it obvious? Another Auror's body had been found, another Death Eater got away with murder, another horcrux yet unbroken.
Finally, they told him there were no more horcruxes left to break but still it was too early,it wasn't time. Sodding liars! It is my time! Just give me a chance! He escaped. He knew enough from the bits and pieces of information leaked from the Aurors and Order members where Voldemort might be found. He was tired of waiting. So he left, when the others had been distracted.
The silence here was horrible. He had never before realized just how noisy everyday life was. His ears felt stopped up with cotton; his breathing was too loud, his rambling,sometimes panicked thoughts even louder. He had taken to twitching a sneakered foot against the cold floor just to hear something other than his own rasping breath. The sound meant that he was alive. He wasn't dead yet.
He existed like this, for how long, he wasn't certain. It felt like forever.
Maybe I'm already dead, Harry thought. Is this hell? Do wizards go to hell?
He hadn't had time to wonder further on that, as he was startled from his thoughts by a heavy thump in the centre of the pit.
Something large had crashed down from above. Harry barely had time to scramble away to the corner. He felt the air in the small space disturbed by a flurry of movement, the sound of voluminous cloth, and a muttered curse followed by a groan.
Harry stuck his neck out and listened. He knew that voice.
"Snape?!" It can't be. It's a boggart or something. A pit like this is a perfect hidey-hole for a boggart. But since when did I turn into Neville?
Another rush of movement right next to Harry. "Imbecilic boy!" Snape bellowed into the darkness, his presence moving, shifting in the dark towards him. Harry stepped as far back as he could against the wall, hoping against hope that perhaps he might still remain unnoticed. Definitely Snape. Then Harry's reeling mind kicked into gear and recalled the fateful green flash, the purple robes on the wind, and the body falling down from the tower. Fury overwhelmed him, he forgot all about his hunger and weakness.
He cried out and dove forward into the darkness, connecting with a bony chest and landing on top of it against the unforgiving floor. He might be a squib here but he could still do this. His hands sought the thin neck, his fingers feeling rough stubble, the twitching Adam's apple as he squeezed and growled. "Bastard... kill you..." But his voice was a dry cracked whisper, his lips like peeling wax against his tongue.
Clawlike hands scrabbled at his face, scratched at his eyes. Choking noises bounced off the walls of the tiny cell, boots scraped against the floor. With a mighty heave, Snape twisted and Harry found himself pinned under a sharp knee digging painfully against his sternum and a long-fingered hand around his throat, tight, but not strangling.
Harry closed his eyes and waited for the hand on his neck to squeeze. But it didn't. So he tried his best to elbow Snape in the ribs.
Snape coughed, recovering himself, and thrust Harry's head against the stone with a thud to keep him still. "Trying to murder those trying to help you now, are you Potter?"
Harry struggled under the weight pressing against his chest. How is it the skinny bastard is so heavy? He pried at Snape's hand at his neck. "You! I don't need your help! Let go of me!"
Shockingly, the hand and the weight on his chest disappeared. Harry could sense Snape had backed off, was standing at the other side of the small cell.
"What are you doing here?" Harry growled, quite sure that he wouldn't be killed right this minute.
A wry chuckle. "I'm asking myself the same question."
Harry frowned. His thoughts barely made sense in the haze of hunger and pain... Has Snape fallen out of favour with Voldemort? Why else would he end up in this place?
He squinted, vainly trying to see Snape in the darkness. "What did you do?"
"A great many things," Snape muttered.
Harry's lip curled in anger. "Like killing Dumbledore?"
He heard a sharp intake of breath, but then Snape continued in an even tone. "... killing people among them. Some even against their will."
Harry heard the slide of cloth once again. Snape had leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. He sounded less harsh, almost weary.
"Are you going to kill me then?" Harry asked.
"You sound hopeful," Snape drawled. "Do you want me to kill you?"
The surge of hate felt almost physical. Harry hoped Snape would attack. It would be good to die fighting. Anything but withering away from hunger.
But he was still too weak, and he crumpled into a heap on the floor. He was no match for Snape and he knew it. "Just do it then, if that's your plan," he rasped. The back of his throat burned. He was sick of always just waiting for things to happen.
Silence. And then Snape's even voice. "No."
"Then why the fuck are you here? If you aren't going to kill me, at least let me die in peace."
"Forgive my disruption of your pathetic fit of self-pity," Snape snarled condescendingly. "Leave it to you to turn down help when it's right in front of you."
"How can you possibly help me?" And why would you?
"Ah, let's see..." Movement, and Snape's face was inches from his, his breath hot on his cheek, the heat from his body radiating against him. "I suppose you believe you were caught, don't you? You can't remember how you got here, correct? Do you think that the Order or perhaps the Ministry is searching far and wide for you right now? Did it strike you that perhaps they won't know where to look? That very possibly, you'll be left here,ignored and forgotten. After all, they probably have other plans to kill the Dark Lord,
prophecy be damned. Wouldn't that just be the ultimate torture for a boy who grew up certain he was destined to save the world? Ignore The Boy Who Lived. Ignore the Chosen One. Cast him aside into a dark pit, and forget him like the worthless brat he is."
Harry ground his teeth in anger.
"For your information, you've picked a hole that no one's checked in years to tumble into. The Great Wonder of the Wizarding World decided to play hero on his own and has fallen into an abandoned trap. How does that feel?"
Harry blinked. That's why no one came to torture me for information. That's why no one came to feed me prisoner's rations. "No one knows I'm here?"
"Wrong." A chuckle, low and teasing. "I do."
"But..." His brow creased with the effort of thinking past the all-consuming hunger, the dizziness. You don't count, he almost said, but instead mumbled: "You're trapped here too, just like me."
Snape made a disgusted noise, and shifted back, away from him again. Harry could see him in his mind's eye, adjusting his robes, like a bat folding its wings.
Harry frowned. "So what kind of trap is this? Who set it? Why can't I remember how I got here? Why are you here? And..." His stomach growled on cue and he couldn't stop himself from blurting "...do you have any food?"
He hated this. He despised his body for yearning for food, and he hated that he would gladly, eagerly, even gratefully, take food from this man he loathed. By force, if he had to.
There was a low snort in the dark. "No. I don't have any food."
Harry was both relieved and disappointed. He pulled his legs up and bent his head against them, curling around the hollow centre of his body. I haven't eaten anything for days. It must have been at least days. How can I still be alive?
He heard Snape stand and shift against the wall, lightly scraping his hands against the stone.
Harry sighed. "I tried that already," he muttered. "There isn't a way out."
"Wrong again. There is always a way out. Not always a pleasant one, of course."
Harry sat upright, light-headed from the sudden movement. His heart pounded in his chest. "Where then? I couldn't find any sign of an opening-"
"Not where. Perhaps you should ask yourself 'how' instead."
Harry gritted his teeth. "Tell me how then?"
"By dying, for example."
"Bastard," Harry snapped.
"Quite," Snape acceded. "I said it's not always pleasant."
Silence. Then the sound of shifting once again, of Snape folding his long legs beneath him and sitting. "Come here."
Harry didn't. Although the man's voice was softer, and although the command sounded like a request, Harry didn't move. He didn't trust himself not to go for Snape's throat again. He also simply didn't have the energy. "Don't think I will," he said, his words slurring slightly as his eyes closed, trading one darkness for another.
"Potter," the voice snapped.
"What?"
"Come. Here."
This time the command was obvious, with an underlying threat. Reluctantly Harry crawled forward, hoping against hope that perhaps Snape had found something – a chocolate frog or a portkey – in his pockets or perhaps he would lash out and snap Harry's neck. Either way it might improve the current situation.
Harry stopped when Snape's outstretched fingers settled cool against his scar. Snape murmured something, an incantation that sounded almost like a song – I heard him chant something like this before, Harry thought, back at Hogwarts, with Malfoy – and a flow of energy, cool and soothing made its way through Harry's mind and down his spine, to his stomach, which immediately eased its stranglehold on his
midsection. It felt like water, clean and cold after days in a desert. Harry sighed, closed his eyes and simply collapsed on the damp floor, breathing deep and for once without pain or hunger on his mind.
**
He woke up with his face pressed against the rough wool of Snape's robes. He jerked up and away, and scrambled back to the other side of the cell.
Snape remained where he was; his voice was low and hoarse. "Sleep well?"
"What did you do?" Harry mumbled tentatively. "Was that a spell? How'd you cast a spell in here? I can't-"
"Stop babbling, Potter." Snape grunted as moved against the wall, perhaps attempting to find a more comfortable position. Then, gruffly, he asked, "Are you better?"
Harry hesitated, analyzing the state of his body. He still felt weak... slightly dizzy, but at last, he wasn't mind-numbingly hungry. "Yeah. Loads better. How'd you do that? If you cast another spell, maybe we can get out of-"
"That's impossible, you idiot. I know better than anyone," Snape's voice snapped with authority once more, and despite himself, Harry quieted. How does he know?
All those questions flooded his mind. Why is Snape here at all? He said he's here to help but how can he help? And why would he help? He's a traitor, a Death Eater, and a murderer. I can't trust him. But... what choice do I have?
"For once, can you not speak in riddles or insults," Harry demanded sulkily. "Say something. Anything normal."
A soft snort. "What do you want me to say?"
"Why'd you..." Harry trailed off. Which question would Snape answer? Which answer could he trust? "So... are you here to kill me or not?"
Snape spluttered. "Potter, for the last time, as much as I'd enjoy murdering you at the moment, it would render all that time and effort in protecting your miserable hide absolutely worthless."
Harry rolled his eyes. Protecting me? "Fat lot of good you've done there!"
"You are alive, you miserable brat, only because I kept you that way, despite all your reckless stunts. Without me you would have joined your pathetic father years ago!" Snape moved again, his nose nearly touching Harry's. Too close. Harry could feel him breathing heavily. He couldn't draw back any further; his head was pressed up against the wall.
"Stay still," Snape growled, and Harry jumped when the cold hand touched his forehead again, unexpectedly gentle on his scar. Again, Snape murmured singsong words under his breath, and that cool-yet-warm feeling washed over him, curling down his spine, into his belly, warming and soothing. Harry sighed and relaxed, leaning into the touch without realizing he was doing so. Snape's other hand steadied him by the shoulder, keeping him steadily away. Harry made a slight noise of protest, but all thoughts were washed away
by that tranquilizing feeling. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered at what was happening. Snape's feeding me... feeding me energy. Somehow.
He felt warmer and stronger and better. Snape's breath tickled against his ear and Harry opened his mouth to say something but the words didn't come out.
"Hush," Snape said. "Stop fighting it, Potter. Relax."
Harry didn't remember anything after that.
**
He felt truly rested when he woke up. But he was shivering. The air felt chilly, especially after the memory of his dream. It was warm, with a large fireplace and the smell of food from the kitchen, and Ginny. She was with him again. He snuggled closer and she smiled and hugged him tightly.
Reluctantly, Harry opened his eyes. Darkness. This wasn't the Burrow. The cold stones dug into his back even though there was something softer than stones on one side of him. As soon as he realised, he shifted away as fast as he could, trying not to think of the skinny body he had just snuggled so close to.
A chuckle came from beside him. Harry heard Snape shifting and stretching; his shoulder popped loudly and he grunted. Snape didn't seem at all concerned or angered at Harry, just amused.
Tentatively, Harry asked, "What did you do to me?"
"What I always do. I'm keeping you from dying. Again." Snape's voice in the darkness sounded tired, and lacked the usual harshness.
"Why would you even bother? Didn't you say dying's the only way out."
Snape snorted. "Indeed. It's certainly the easiest way."
No, Snape isn't here to kill me, or he would have done it by now. Harry blinked, and stood up to stretch. It felt odd. He was no longer dizzy or weak or even hungry. So strange. "I think we need a better plan."
"Is that so?" Snape sounded almost amused.
"We're stuck in a bloody trap," Harry clarified. "No one knows we're here. And," he squinted; it still didn't help any, "You know a way out and won't tell me a thing. So we need a better plan, the one that doesn't include dying down here."
"Brilliant, did you think that up all by yourself?" Snape's voice was thick with sarcasm. "Perhaps I underestimated you and you will last long enough to be killed by the Dark Lord after all."
"You didn't fall down, did you? You jumped down," Harry interrupted. "You jumped because I was here?"
Silence.
"Ah. In that case, perhaps I underestimated you too."
Snape didn't answer. Harry was about to beat more information out of him when he finally spoke, harsh and terse. "I created this trap."
"You did?"
"Long ago. I used this place to practice my new spells. One of them was a particularly brilliant invention. Pity it wasn't up to the Dark Lord's standards."
Harry frowned. "How so?"
"It drains a wizard's magic instead of draining their souls. The Dark Lord thought a personal Dementor army a better investment than my research."
Harry made a disgusted noise.
A wry chuckle. "If you only knew... Regret not strangling me when you had a chance, do you?" His tone was especially bitter.
"No!" Harry denied. It was almost the truth.
"You shouldn't trust me so easily."
Harry felt his anger rise again, a comforting wave. "I don't!"
"Of course you do," Snape murmured. "You have no other choice."
"You are so bloody confusing." Harry slid down the wall again, his anger gone, leaving him to feel hollow. His head was spinning again. "Why'd you leave this sodding trap for others to fall into if Voldemort didn't want it?"
"I suppose I never thought anyone would be fool enough to just fall into it."
Harry snorted. "Well, they did, and now look where it's gotten you." There was only silence on the other side of the pit. Harry could feel Snape's glare, and he swallowed.
"Come here."
This time, Harry barely hesitated. He crawled forward, hating that he wanted this...whatever it was Snape was giving him. This energy. He was hungry for it. At least it was dark... somehow, giving in and accepting Snape's help was easier in the dark.
Snape reached out, and Harry moved closer and settled next to him. Snape's thin fingers curled at the back of his skull and pressed Harry's head against his shoulder. What is he doing? But Harry let him. That hand was on his forehead now, over his scar, and Harry sighed as Snape began the soft chant and the feeling washed over him, like gentle fingers brushing down his spine. Perhaps it was all a lie and the bastard was hurting him instead of helping, but Harry really didn't care at the moment, as long as that feeling of weakness and hunger went away. His eyes eased shut.
He struggled to stay awake this time. He forced his eyes open again, and blinked a few times to chase away the sleep. "Feels good," he murmured, half to himself. He felt himself relax all over, despite his attempt to stay awake, his mind quieting and opening up to the flow...
A hot surge suddenly flowed through him, a flood of energy making him gasp and choke like a drowning man.
"No!" Snape gasped too, pushing Harry away roughly. "Not so fast."
Harry's spine tingled. He thought he could almost see Snape against the other wall, a darker shape in the blackness. "What's wrong?" he panted, his heart still pounding from the rush of energy and refusing to slow down.
"Nothing," Snape replied gruffly, and then he nearly collapsed against the wall. Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to hold him upright. Everything else hardly mattered. But try as he might, he couldn't ignore the warmth pulsating in his groin, the unwanted arousal. What the hell did the bastard do to me?
Snape's breathing evened out eventually. It was nothing, Harry said to himself. I'm just going mad, that's all. But it's really nothing. But still he left his hand on Snape's shoulder – just in case – until the even breaths turned into soft snores.
**
When Harry woke up, something felt different. Then he opened his eyes wider and noticed the light coming from above. It was faint and unsteady but in it he saw Snape: a drawn and dirty face, with the limp, greasy hair hanging over it. "Oi, just look at this! I can see you now!"
Snape opened his eyes and stared past him with a blank, unfocused glare.
"No, wait. Why can I see you?" Harry asked, and leaned closer, examining Snape's haggard features. Snape started back slightly, as though he hadn't realized Harry was so close to him until he spoke.
"Same reason I can't see you anymore, I'd imagine," he murmured. His words were slightly slurred with exhaustion. "It's the nature of the trap. Don't concern yourself with it."
There it was, almost the same phrase he'd heard so often from the Order members. "For someone who claims to be helping, you aren't of any help whatsoever!"
To Harry's surprise, Snape's mouth stretched into something like a smile. Then his eyebrow lifted, and the smile was gone. "Stop eyeing me like that," he grumbled.
Harry blinked. "How'd you know I am?"
"I can feel it, you nitwit. Stop it."
"You never give me any normal answers, you know," Harry said, watching intently as Snape drew his legs up, hunched within his robes, his hair hanging in greasy strips over his face. "No one ever does."
"Did you ever consider that keeping information from you is intentional?" Snape's voice was stronger now, but his eyes were closed. "Otherwise, you might get it into your foolish head that you know enough to run off into the night all alone, bent on revenge or glory, or who knows what, and instead manage to fall into the only magical trap in all Britain that no one expects you to find. Oh look, just like this one," he sneered.
Harry couldn't help but smile. He actually sounds concerned. Maybe this is Snape's way of being worried about me? I've seen stranger things happen. "You aren't really bad at all, are you?" The words dropped from his lips before he realised that he spoke his thoughts aloud.
Snape barked with surprised laughter. "Bad, Potter? Oh, I certainly am, in every sense of the word."
"No, really!" Harry exclaimed. "I thought about it. A lot. And I think Dumbledore made you promise to keep me safe."
"Even if he did, just how, exactly, does this make me not bad?"
"Well, you are on my side. I mean..." Harry searched for words. "On Dumbledore's side. Right?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. His face was absolutely blank. "Perhaps I only came over to the winning side, Potter. And paid a heavy price for it, submitting to do the bidding of a powerful wizard who always kept me on a short leash from then on. But not forever."
Harry snorted and shook his head. The haze in his head was beginning to clear. "Liar. You kil-" he cleared his throat. "Dumbledore was dying anyway... wasn't he? From that ring."
"Or perhaps from the poison that you force-fed him?" Snape lashed out like a dog backed into a corner.
Harry ignored him. "There were plenty of times you could've killed me but you didn't. Like now. Instead you're making me stronger. And it's weakening you."
"Another brilliant deduction by The Boy Who Lived."
"Ah, so I'm right!" Harry said sharply. "How are you doing this? And why?"
Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose. His face looked truly gaunt, tired. "The trap is set so that only a Death Eater can enter or leave it at will."
Harry paused only for a moment. "Then why are you still here? Go! Tell the Order where I am if you really want to help."
"It's almost over. Come here," Snape breathed instead of an answer.
Harry was already close, so he simply scooted forward another couple of inches. Snape's hand came up against his chest to hold him back. Harry reached up and clasped it. Snape's fingers clutched at his instinctively and Harry held on. The close contact left him feeling warm and confused and wanting something he didn't know how to describe.
He tried anyway. "No one ever touches me anymore," he murmured, the words escaping before he could stop them. "After Ron and Hermione were... gone. Ginny used to but I haven't seen her in months. I'm just... a weapon to them. Just some stupid tool being kept according to some stupid prophecy."
"You aren't just a tool." Snape's voice sounded choked. But then a nasty smirk quickly appeared on his lips. "Sometimes you're also an idiot." Despite the insult, his other arm came around and drew Harry even closer. "Ready?"
Harry nodded and stopped fighting himself. He pressed his face against Snape's shoulder, his forehead against the warm neck. Snape began the whispered chant, and the delicious energy surge pushed through him again.
Oh yes! It was stronger this time, like the warm lapping of water against his body. His mind opened and reached and he thought he heard Snape gasp and the flow increased again, washing through him and making him squirm. Snape didn't shove him away this time but drew him in.
Harry put his arms around Snape's skinny form, ran his hands down his back, trying to bring them even closer together. It felt like Snape's heart pounded in his ears, in his own chest, making his own heart beat much faster in unison. Snape's breaths came rapid and uneven in Harry's ear. He sighed finally and buried his face in Harry's hair. It might have been the intensity of the energy flow through the connection between them, or perhaps Harry was simply starved for contact, any contact with another human being; either way it felt impossibly good. Harry gasped. "Yeah, more."
Snape's hands slid up his forearms, his back, higher, into Harry's tangled hair. His touch felt almost gentle against Harry's scalp. Harry shivered, burying his face deeper into the layers of rough wool where underneath, he knew – felt – was a warm, living human body. Who knew? He heard Snape moan. Perhaps he imagined it but he didn't think so and then he was hard again; he couldn't help it. It felt so good, this wash of warmth, this flood of strength, this magic. Somehow it made him feel more alive than ever. He could see how this shared power, this willingly given magical strength could become an addiction. Is this how Dark Lords are made? came the unbidden thought. But Snape's fingers brushed through his hair again and he lost all coherence, pressing against the contact, against the touch, against the hypnotic sound of the chant and Snape's low voice in his ears. Then Snape's hands gently clasped his shoulders and slowly,agonisingly pushed him down to the floor. Harry let him, pulling Snape down, on top of him. Yes! Harry gasped at the weight pressed against his body and making him feel things he never expected to feel with Snape in a million years. He was painfully hard and ashamed of reacting this way. But this isn't because of Snape, not at all, he repeated to himself frantically. Just something Snape's doing, that energy – it makesme feel so good. It's just the energy...not him.
The pulsing of it, wave after wave, along his spine and all through his body felt so good it hurt. Harry nearly cried out, clutching frantically at the gaunt form in too many layers of clothing, only – he told himself – for lack of anything else to hold onto.
It felt wrong, moving like this, with Snape, so good, but wrong nonetheless, meaningless and faceless as if Snape was just anyone, no one, just his energy and magic. But he really wasn't. And Harry tried his best to make it right somehow, to justify feeling like this – aroused and breathless, with Snape of all people – in his mind, because Snape was saving him, wasn't he? And that counted for something. Something incredibly brilliant and important... like someone suddenly winning a Quidditch game for him when Harry gave
up and accepted the loss. Only this wasn't a game, it was life.
So he moved forward and attacked, his mouth against Snape's thin lips, and it felt less wrong then, especially when Snape's mouth, after a brief shocked pause, responded. Snape's hand against his jaw steadied him through the kiss, and when Snape drew back to gasp for breath and Harry stretched up to follow him, insistent and desperate, Snape looked down, his unseeing eyes serious, and smiled ruefully.
"More," Harry pleaded, his hips thrusting up for more contact. So good... Snape closed his eyes then and moved, humming once more the words of the chant; his knee between Harry's, a heavy, steady pressure against Harry's crotch. Harry gasped, and thrust against it; the friction was just right and brilliant and wonderful and too much, too soon, and Oh, YES!
The release seemed to break something apart inside of him; the burst of warmth, of power– magic – exploding and filling him utterly. He arched backwards, mouth open, eyes wide. Everything became so very clear at that moment; the darkness of the small pit evaporating, broken by a brilliant white light, and when it faded, and Harry could see it so perfectly: the opening above him, up past Snape's shoulder, there, a clear patch of blue sky.
"Look!" Harry cried – his hands still tangled in the greasy hair. He forced Snape's head up too when he didn't respond and it took him too long to remember that Snape had said he couldn't see. Doesn't matter! "It's open," he gasped. "The trap opened. You did it."
"Go then," Snape's exhausted voice was rough but urgent, his hand pressing a wand, sharp and thin – His? Mine? – into Harry's hand before pulling back. "Now! It might not stay open for long."
"But..." Harry sat up, confused and hesitant. "Aren't you coming with me?"
"Potter! Stop asking questions for once," Snape bellowed, his wide, blind eyes were desperate. "Just go. NOW!"
Harry stood up; his legs trembled but he felt strong, his entire body surged with the power – so much magic, I've never felt it so strong before. He could feel his own familiar magic was back, but it was like it was increased tenfold... with a new, unknown energy flooding powerfully through him.
"Go!"
"Snape..."
He looked down at the man stretched out on the floor. Snape looked pale and wasted, his skin stretched painfully tight over the sharp bone. "Please, Harry." He had never heard that tone of voice from Snape before, urgent, desperate – more like a plea than anything else he'd heard – and it shocked him to the core.
Harry pointed the wand toward the light, his eyes locking onto the blue patch of sky above him. "Alarte Ascendare!"
It worked. He soared upwards, the air currents pushing him upward like a windstorm carries a broken leaf. Suddenly the wind ceased and he crashed, face first into the ground. Harry grunted and rolled over, briefly flexing his arms and legs. Nothing broken. No worse than during Quidditch. He grinned and sat up, looking around for the opening of the trap, and Snape.
Around him was an bare field and grey skies. The wind was clean and clear after the stale air of the pit, and Harry breathed deep.
"Snape?" Harry looked around once again. The ground all around him was unbroken; no sign of any trap or hole. Harry walked around in circles once or twice, testing the ground under his feet tentatively for any sign of give. Hard-packed soil and stunted grass, leaves and twigs, and... his wand!
When Harry stooped to pick it up a knife-like pain ripped through his left arm. He cried out and grasped it with his right hand as it continued to burn and throb.
Carefully, Harry lifted his hand, expecting to see an open, bleeding wound. His mouth fell open as he looked down upon a Dark Mark on his forearm.
Suddenly all those vague scraps of not-quite-answers began to make more sense to Harry. He wished they did not. The trap was keyed to let only Death Eaters out. So Snape made Harry into one, by giving up all of his magic and passing it on to Harry, the good and the bad, including the Mark. But how can he get out without magic? Harry gasped, and choked on his breath. Snape! He knelt, and clawed his fingers though the grass and dirt, trying to find the opening to the trap.
"You fucking bastard! Why did you give it to me?"
Another surge of pain seared his arm. The Dark Lord's call. Harry stumbled onto his knees clutching hard at the Mark. How did Snape deal with it? He groaned. His cheeks were wet.
He looked again at the throbbing Mark on his arm. So this is it. This is the way it happens. He scrubbed at the wetness on his face and stood up, taking a few deep breaths. I have to focus. I can do this. I'll go in Snape's place, and then I'll take care of Voldemort once and for all. Then I'll be back, find Snape and get the scheming bastard out of that trap. Somehow.
Harry clutched his own wand in his left hand to be ready and took a deep breath, touching the tip of Snape's thin, black wand to the Mark. It was time to end this.
**
Harry tried to get away, he really did. But St. Mungo's healers wouldn't let him go until they had treated all his wounds from the blast which incinerated Voldemort. The Dark Mark had vanished from his arm soon after and so did the scar from his forehead. If any of the healers had noticed his newly increased magical strength, they did not comment on it. Nor did anyone ask about his improved eyesight. People really were blind to the most obvious things.
After St. Mungo's, the Ministry wouldn't leave him in peace, eager as they were to write and rewrite the interview drafts for future history books in advance: "Harry Potter, working in full compliance with the Aurors and the Minister of Magic, claims victory..."
"Can't you see it wasn't my victory," he wanted to scream. "It was Snape's!" But the Quick-Quotes Quills only wrote down eloquent, inspiring speeches about bravery, teamwork, and the Wizarding World's brilliant future.
It had already been too long when he'd finally been able slip past the guards and the crowds and the celebrations, and Apparate back to that field. Harry looked for the trap again, walking through the empty stretch of grass dotted with scraggly trees, searching for a sign of something, anything in the hard-packed soil. Snape knew another way out, he tried to reassure himself for the hundredth time. He wouldn't have jumped into that trap if he didn't know another way. He had to get out. He said he created it, so he knows a way. And now he's gone and I haven't had the chance to thank him yet.
He took Snape's wand from a pocket in his robes and gripped the worn handle. He didn't know what else to try, but, maybe, perhaps: "Priori Incantatem!"
The ghostly face of the former Dark Lord didn't greet him from the faint mist trailing from the tip of the wand. Instead, writing appeared in flaming, cramped script, traced in the air before him in several long lines.
Potter, it's in Death Eaters' nature to carry the hunger never to be sated: hunger for power, for fame, for magic, for deaths of others and for their own, in glory of our Lord. Never let that kind of hunger take control of your mind. It's the legacy I leave you: along with the rest of it, my magic and my Mark. You may hate me, in fact, I hope you do: it will make it easer for you to live and to triumph.
Do not come back for me; you will find nothing of importance. But know this: after many years of servitude, vows, and obligations, my hunger for life and for death is satisfied once and for all.
Long after the letters had faded, Harry still stood and stared at the empty place where they had appeared. Eventually he bit down on the inside of his cheek and blinked until his eyes were dry again. Then he picked a spot on the ground near a wispy birch stretching its skeletal branches up to the grey, indifferent sky. He dug a shallow hole in the dirt with his hands, and in it he laid Snape's wand to rest, patting the moist layers of soil and moss back in place.
He wanted to say something. But he couldn't think of anything to say. There was a dull, stinging ache in his throat, echoing the one in his gut. He lay a hand over his left forearm where the Mark used to be.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
****
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