|scriblerian (scriblerian) wrote in severus_sighs,|
@ 2010-11-19 13:39:00
|Entry tags:||challenge, ficlet, member: scriblerian, rating: r|
Hell Hath No Fury
Title: Hell Hath No Fury
Word Count: 447
Warning(s): BDSM, angst, dark.
Summary: Response to LD7's prompt on the Yahoo group feed: Snape/Dumbledore, something darkish as far as genre goes, and hmm... maybe bdsm, punishment, that sort of thing--but not non or dubcon--and the word of the day is "habit".
A/N: This comes from the ice-cold center of my heart, which I keep wrapped in red velvet in a windowless dungeon. Seriously. There's also a dragon (but no dragon in the story).
Disclaimer: None of these people belong to me. I wouldn't know what to do with them if they did.
Severus Snape was surprised that he was able to feel new depths of hatred for Harry Potter. He had been stunned by Lily’s decision to die in order to save the infant. He had been horrified when the brat was heralded as The Boy Who Lived. The child’s appalling resemblance to James Potter disgusted him. And the insufferable arrogance of the Gryffindor Golden Boy made his fingers twitch with the effort of not strangling the prat.
But this hatred was beyond anything even he could have imagined. He had believed that his sacrifices and his service would ensure his position. Now he realized that he had been indulging in a fantasy. If he had learned anything in his life, Severus had learned that he would never, never be rewarded.
When it came down to it, Severus could accept the disappointment. He was used to things being snatched away from him and to people abandoning him. He knew how to do without. But being forced to watch his own heart being torn out—bit by bit—and fed to Harry Potter… The only thing that could fill the spreading chasm inside of him was his ever-increasing hatred.
He could justify his appalling behavior towards the boy as part of his cover. He had no choice but to accept the duty of protecting the so-called Saviour. But watching Dumbledore turn all of his attention towards the boy was destroying Severus.
The fatherly—or in this case, grandfatherly—concern. The twinkling eyes. The fits of anger. The casual dismissals. The cruel neglect. Dumbledore gave it all to Potter. There was nothing left for Severus.
All that was left was the punishment and the pain. And Severus feared, nay, he knew, that this was simply due to the power of habit. Dumbledore couldn’t touch Potter, and he couldn’t be arsed to find another replacement. He simply continued to demand it of Severus. And Severus couldn’t resist it.
It was tempting to refuse. But it wouldn’t work. Dumbledore could fool the world, but he couldn’t fool Severus. Dumbledore didn’t miss a thing. If Severus tried to play Dumbledore for a fool—in anything—Dumbledore would crush him. It would happen quickly and without any of the delicious torment that sustained Severus through his long fall.
So Severus clung to their routine. The mechanics did not change. There was the same methodical torture. There were the same dispassionate violations. But Severus knew that Dumbledore was thinking of Harry. Every stripe, every thrust, every cruel jerk belonged to Harry. As always, Severus carried them. But he knew that they were not really his. Not anymore.
If hatred could kill, Harry Potter never would have lived.