And of course there was never a chance I could limit myself to one comment box, with this story
Harry did not want to think of anything else, only the wizard who lay sated, naked and vulnerable, his warm breath against Harry's neck, his black hair strewn across the thin pillow, but he had never been any good at Occlumency.
"I love my children." The words tumbled from Harry's mouth; he bit his lips to keep back the next and possibly more damning sentence.
"I warned you."
"I know. But I still want you."
"Then you had better prepare yourself to be torn in two, had you not, Potter?"
Yesssssss. Which is why adultery is one of the highest forms of angst. Best experienced, therefore, in fictional forms. Where the only children at risk are fictional, as well. God, you capture the heart of it right there. And oh, poor Harry: in love for the first time in his life, and finding out what a hostage he's given to fortune, there.
And the ending. Oh, God. Oh, be still, my beating heart. Yes. Snape is an adult. An adult. And yes, he always watched over Harry's best interests, and he knows that this isn't going to end well, for Harry. And so, of course he takes the appropriate measures. *heart breaks quietly and completely*
And yet, at the very end, a glimmer of hope. Ouroboros, the narrative swallowing its own tail. Perhaps next time, with the laws altered and all the children in school . . . it might end differently. Or perhaps Snape won't risk it again. Perhaps he was hurt too badly the first time, forced to cut off his own arm in order to free Harry from the trap. We can only speculate about what that act, so selfless, cost Snape.
You can read the ending either way, in this beautifully complicated piece of angst and obsessive love.
Mystery writer, I can't wait to find out who you are. You went to enormous lengths here to please me and make me happy, and you succeeded in spades. I wish I could hug you.