Snarry-a-Thon22: FIC: Heartbreak Warfare Title: Heartbreak Warfare Author:FleetingDesires Rating: T Word count: 5,062 Content/Warning(s): Mental Health (Acute Depression), Self-Image issues, POV Severus, Angst, Happy Ending, True Love's Kiss, Professor Potter, Professor Snape Prompt: No. 44: Snape was cursed by a rogue Death Eater/hired assassin with a mortal love curse. The curse is easily lifted by someone who is in love with the cursed. Thus, the perpetrator ensured quite a slow and painful death for the spy. Or did they? Summary: The Potions master was dosed with heartbreak in a vial, ensuring a perfectly ironic death… Unless someone came along to cure him with true love’s kiss. A/N: My thanks to maraudersaffair for serving as alpha to this first-time Snarry writer.
"Five lacewings, Miss Pinekirk," Severus intoned, as he passed by a cauldron. "And lower your fire, Mister Noll. Fifty points from Hufflepuff if either of you causes an explosion in my classroom." Honestly, these fifth-years were almost as bad as Longbottom had been. He mustered up the energy to stalk away from them, though his muscles screamed in protest. Severus tried to remember the last time he ate or drank anything but sips of water between classes, and could only recall the last tea he'd had with Harry six days ago. He'd eaten… three biscuits. Had it truly been that long?
Even with the greater part of his mind occupied, Severus still managed to cast a containment spell around Noll's cauldron, extinguishing the flame at nearly the same time. Noxious plum fumes filled the containment sphere. "Fifty points from Hufflepuff, Mister Noll, and detention for failing to follow instructions! Have you learned nothing—"
Severus stopped short, watching in horror as his spell flickered, releasing a wisp of fume before the containment barrier solidified again. All of a sudden, he realised that it had been a supremely bad idea to get agitated. His heart was racing, pounding as hard as it could, working desperately to deliver blood around his body. A cold sweat broke out on his skin. "You— Turpin," he said, looking at the first student he could find who was decent at charms, "Contain this." He stumbled against a bench top as his legs gave out, bracing himself heavily against it as he tried to keep his eyes open long enough to make sure Turpin did as she had been told. "Call—"
He collapsed to the ground in a sea of girlish screams, clutching at his spasming chest. The last thing he remembered thinking was: At least it's finally over.I hope I don't end up like Binns.
Imagine his surprise when he woke up to find himself in the hospital wing, Harry Potter keeping vigil by his bedside. He couldn't help but be reminded of the first time he'd awoken like this, immediately after the war, his heart twisting then as it did now. He'd forgotten about that physical reaction, really, until this very moment, but this time, his hurting heart would not be ignored.
Unfortunately, that ache in his chest was not merely metaphorical. That sensation of a heart slowly caving in on itself in hopelessness, tendon by excruciating tendon, was most definitely physical now, and would one day be the death of him.
Severus Snape has felt this pain to varying levels twice before in his life. The first time, it was brief; the consequence of an ill-fated crush on Regulus Black and its consummation that had flared as quickly as it had been doused. The second, when he'd realised that he'd caused the death of the woman that he'd known since he was nine. Lily Evans. He hadn't even known the depth of his own feelings for her until it was too late. That had been harder to bear, exacerbated as it had been by grief, but it had been soothed in the decades since, working tirelessly to avenge her death, and protecting her son from succumbing to the same horrible fate.
The third time was supposed to be the proverbial charm, but when had Severus ever been that lucky? He'd thought he had been going insane at first, that it was psychosomatic; his body being unnecessarily dramatic about his mortifying crush on the Potter boy — who was undeniably a man, now, five years after the war — that had begun when Potter began teaching DADA at Hogwarts. But when his symptoms got worse, to the point that he'd lost his appetite for three days in a row, he remembered that he was Severus bloody Snape, the man with a legendary self-preservation instinct, and realised that there must be something more at play than simple heartache.
Obviously, the only thing to do then was to take to his books to try and figure out what exactly had been done to him, and from there, by whom.
It hadn't been too difficult to discover that a potion imitating heartbreak had been developed before. It was called Marcesco, discovered in 1854 as the result of a botched attempt at developing Amortentia. Not only did it cause the victim to feel lovelorn and hopeless to the point of losing the will to live, but also caused one's heart to rend itself to pieces. Slowly, agonisingly, until eventually they died of a literal broken and shattered heart if they didn't off themselves before that. All told, when left untreated, it caused death before the year was through. Ironic, for a man largely thought not to possess a heart at all.
The cure was, on the face of it, deceptively simple. True love's kiss. Like in one of those Muggle fairytales. This was why, simple as it was, it was also impossible, because his name was Severus Snape. And it was not simple enough, as a bezoar, powerful though it was, could not counteract its effects.
He spent a week getting violently drunk, then banished all the firewhisky from his quarters in a fit of rage. His status as the greasy, unloved dungeon bat of Hogwarts was a well-known fact, making it the perfect poison for him, but who dared to poison him in this manner? It was also so oddly personal. Something that a spurned ex-lover might do, to use both his professional expertise and his absence of a heart against him. But he'd never had a dalliance that had gone beyond a single night for many years, and those that he had spent more time with in years past, were all long gone.
Marcesco had been outlawed soon after its discovery, and the knowledge of its existence not widely spread, but as Amortentia's more destructive cousin, its effects and progression were well-known to the medical community. It was only a matter of a little bit of research and contemplation to realise that he had been dosed during one of his weekly visits to the Hog's Head. Had there been a particularly malicious, attentive glare that night? The bartender had been new and not particularly friendly, but it hadn't been suspicious.
Even after the war, Severus was not a popular figure in Wizarding society, and certainly less so in the dark places he was used to haunting. There had been sympathisers of the Dark Lord that had never been caught, and never would be caught, and these were the people that still bore a grudge against his role in the war. He'd never had cause to be wary of the spineless cowards that couldn't put their wands where their mouths were, and their baleful glares were easier to tolerate than the lingering suspicions from those on his own side.
After a dive into a Pensieve, he'd ascertained that the new bartender had indeed slipped the potion into his drink. He was of half a mind to determine who else was part of the plot, and generally make the man's life hell or send him there, but what would be the point? It would be satisfying, yes, but the cost of public humiliation and spending his last months probably under trial and dying in Azkaban was too high a price.
He kept getting frailer and thinner, never teling anyone of his condition. After all, it could only be cured by the kiss of one who loved him - so it was hopeless anyway. Let them find out at the autopsy and not a moment before. He certainly did not tell one Professor Harry Potter who, for reasons passing easy comprehension, had become something of a friend to Severus in the two years since he'd begun teaching DADA at Hogwarts.
With weekly Saturday teas and snipes in the corridors, Harry had insinuated himself not only back into Severus' life, but also into his thoughts, and his heart. His relief to find Harry alive after the war had become a vague disappointment during his absence while he took his DADA mastery in Berlin, then into cautious, then less cautious friendliness over their teas, and it was possibly sometime into Harry's 30th cup of tea and fifth hundred laugh at Severus' dry wit that he found himself thinking that the boy was really something altogether different from his parents and had grown into a fine man, and wouldn't it be wonderful if he could keep him forever?
But of course, that was just a fool's dream. For while Harry had come out as gay during his final year of school, Severus didn't harbour any illusions that such interest might be turned his way.It was less about the twenty-year age gap — even in the Muggle world, such things were not uncommon — but about the weight of their history, and that he knew for a fact that he was not much to look at, and did not have the sort of personality that might make up for it.
He had needed barely a fraction of his skills to get away with his duplicity. A precisely detailed glamour, and a facade of normality were all it took. Keeping up the illusion of eating at mealtimes, drinking at teatime, and saving his strength for stalking down the hallways. More and more recently, he'd thought of simply giving up. After all, what was the point in keeping up the charade? He'd known from the beginning that Marcesco was a death sentence. So what was he dragging it out for? Some sort of lingering hope that Harry would be his cure? Foolish, fanciful nonsense.
Severus didn't know how many blessed minutes he'd spent staring at Harry, lost in his whirling thoughts, but eventually, Poppy came around to check on him. Severus put a finger to his lips, his eyes wandering to Harry and then back to her again.
Poppy nodded, and did her diagnostic spells as silently as she could. However, it was still enough to jerk Harry awake, and Severus barely restrained himself from shooting Poppy an annoyed glare.
"Severus, you're awake," Harry mumbled, then rubbed his face. It was immediately more alert, and his gaze shot to Poppy. "How is he, Madame Pomfrey?" He asked, like it was a given that patient-Healer confidentiality did not apply in this situation. Severus couldn't imagine why he would make that assumption, and if Poppy's raised brow was any indication, neither could she. She turned that look on Severus, who sighed and shook his head.
"I'll live at least to the morning, Potter. You have a perfectly good bed in your quarters, do you not?" Severus said pointedly.
Harry blinked. "But I— I'll wait out in the hall, shall I?"
"If you must." Severus was too tired to protest any further, and he rested his eyes until he heard Harry step away, and the door to the hospital wing open and shut. He opened his eyes again to look at Poppy. "So. You know," Severus said flatly.
Poppy finally unleashed her glare on him. "Yes, I know. Marcesco. Severus, how could you not have told anyone? Judging from the condition of your heart you have only two months to live!"
"What would be the use in the telling?" he scoffed. "It can only be lifted in one way, Poppy.If true love's kiss was at all forthcoming, don’t you think I would be the first to know? I’d rather go out with my dignity intact."
Poppy looked at him strangely then. "I'm not sure that you would," she said slowly. "Do you know that Harry has sat by your bedside the whole time you've been here? It's been almost two days, Severus."
"What has that got to do with anything? Surely you can't mean to imply— Oh. Oh, you do." He laughed as much as his present energy levels would allow him to. "Oh, Poppy. My dear woman. You're a hopeless romantic. I regret to inform you, however, that Professor Potter most certainly does not harbour any feelings like that for me." As much as I'd like him to, he added silently.
"I am not a hopeless romantic. I simply have eyes in my head. And in all the time I've known you, Severus, you have never once noticed love when it was turned your way."
"What in Merlin's name are you on about?"
"What am I on about?" She muttered. "You never noticed that Sirius Black had a crush on you, for one."
Severus gaped at her. "You're barking mad."
"Those boys were in here almost as often as Harry Potter himself. Do you not think they talked about these things? They teased him mercilessly, Severus. First for liking a boy, then for liking this particular boy." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Why do you think his friends had it out for you? There were plenty of other Slytherins for them to pick on. But you slept with his brother instead, didn't you? And after that, you were yelling about Remus Lupin being a werewolf."
"You think all of that was simply— pulling my pigtails to get my attention?" He snarled. "They nearly killed me."
"I'll call Minerva down right now if you don't believe me."
"Oh, look at the both of you. Turning me into some sort of blind fool just because Gryffindors couldn't possibly be so vindictive for no reason other than they found me distasteful."
"I didn't say that what they did wasn't utterly moronic. I could go on." She sighed, then sent off a Patronus to the Headmistress. "Severus, how long have you had Marcesco? Have you been taking nutrient potions, muscle-strengthening potions, or anything of the like?"
"No," Severus said. "I didn't see a point in delaying the inevitable."
"That is the Marcesco talking, young man. I'll spell the potions into you myself if I have to."
"You will not," he snarled. "I have the right to determine my own medical care, and I refuse. Poppy, if you do such a thing, I will bring you before the Healers' Board myself."
Poppy scoffed. "Severus. With the Marcesco so advanced, you are not capable of making that decision. I have to declare you of unsound mind. I'm sorry, Severus, but—"
"OF UNSOUND MIND? WITCH—" He looked around for his wand, but before he could reach out to it on the bedside table, several things happened at once.
Harry Potter burst into the room at the same time that Poppy petrified him, and Severus was glaring murderously at the ceiling when he heard, "What happened? I heard yelling— Why is he— What are you doing?"
"I'm spelling a Calming Draught into him before he can overexert himself." Poppy had the nerve to appear in his field of vision with nary a shred of apology in her face. "Severus, I'll unspell you once the potion has had time to work. Don't worry."
Fuck her, and fuck all of this. Fuck especially the hand that now gripped on to his, the familiar grip of Harry. Couldn't they all just let a man die in peace? Must even his death be as arduous as his life had been? He struggled against the potion, even as he knew it was futile. He'd brewed the blasted thing, after all. Severus did not want to be calm. He wanted to hex the lot of them and disappear. He wanted…
But even his body betrayed him, and his muscles loosened under the Petrificus; his rage, confined to the tear that slipped free from an eye, rolling towards his temple. And he couldn't even hide that small humiliation. He couldn't even close his eyes to hide it from himself. Helpless, and hopeless. Fine. It was fine. He'd already been in that state for months, what could it matter now?
By the time Severus was unpetrified, Minerva had already made her way to his bedside, and he could hear all of them nattering on. Severus didn't care to parse the words, or look at the no doubt pitiful stares. He rolled to his side and pulled the blankets over his head, wishing for all of them to go away so that he could sleep, and hopefully never wake up again.
"Oh dear," Minerva said, voice muffled. "Poppy…"
"It's the mental effects of Marcesco. At so advanced a stage, the feeling of despondency, of hopelessness must be overwhelming. There is nothing I can do besides try and keep his physical body going for as long as I can. Maybe I can extend his life by a month or two, but…"
"There must surely be a cure," Harry interrupted. "There must be."
"There is. But I am not… equipped to administer it. He does not believe there is—"
"Stop." Severus said weakly, pulling the covers down to his neck. "Stop," he repeated more firmly. "Do not tell him a single thing more."
Harry's face flared immediately, and he turned his face on Severus. "I— You have got to be kidding me. Are you, or are you not, dying?"
"Very soon, if the gods will it so."
"Merlin, Snape! It's not a joking matter." He whirled back on Poppy and Minerva. "Madame Pomfrey, Minerva — could you give us a moment? I believe this discussion is between us."
"There is no need—"
"Shut up, Severus." Harry interjected. He addressed the women again. "Now, please. Before his asinine wish is granted."
They scuttled, and Harry drew the curtains around Snape's bed, casting a Muffliato on the small area.
"Tell me what's wrong with you. What's Marcesco?" Harry demanded.
"No. For once, Potter, this is not something you have any control over. Suffice it to say that it is a magical malady with no cure available to me."
Harry's brows scrunched. "How long do you have?"
"Two months, and apparently a little more if the blasted witch has her way."
"Fuck." He ran a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you tell anyone? We take tea every week, Severus. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't owe you any of my secrets," he hissed. "Least of all this one."
"What more have you got to lose, you miserable bastard? Would it kill you to accept help for once?"
"I don't need help. I don't need anything. The die has been cast."
"I refuse to accept that." Harry paced the small space. "Wait, you said no cure available to you. What's the cure? Please, Severus. If you must mock me forever for it, at least let my celebrity do something. I can get anything from anyone and anywhere. You know that. You must know I'll not hesitate to do whatever it takes to help you. Tell me what it is."
Snape sighed, and his heart broke a little more. He could feel the ache growing, sinking even further into his bones. "It isn't anything that can be bought or retrieved, Harry. Not anything that can be had by force or manipulation. Your celebrity is of no use to me."
Harry sat on the bed at his words, and retrieved his hand from under the blanket to grip his narrow, boney wrist lightly. It was clear that he was trying to be gentle so as not to bruise him. But his tenderness only made everything worse. Severus scrunched his eyes shut. "If you are going to die anyway, just tell me what's happened. I promise I won't tell anyone. I won't even talk to Madame Pomfrey or Minerva about it. I just can't stand to see you suffer like this. I'll… do research. Or ask Hermione to help me. She doesn't need to know why or for whom I'm doing it for. Please."
"Do you intend to plague me for the short remainder of my life if I don't? Can't you let a man die with his dignity intact?"
"Goddammit, Severus, I don't want you to die at all! Is your dignity worth your life?"
"I will have neither!"
Harry thought for a moment. "But Madame Pomfrey and Minerva already know. And knowing you, that is enough for you to feel that you've lost it anyway."
Snape fisted his bedclothes. Damn him, but the boy was right. It burned him to admit it, and the chill in his bones wracked him with shivers. Damn him. Damn them. Damn it all. "I have been poisoned," he gritted out. "Marcesco is a potion affecting both psyche and body. One either dies of a shattered, withered heart, or one loses the will to live and does away with himself before the physical effects have the year to accomplish its work."
"Marcesco…Is that Italian?"
"Latin, you dunce. It quite literally means pining away."
Harry sat down again, and thought about it. "You'll die of a broken heart?"
"Yes. Either literally or metaphorically."
"Does it work like Amortentia?" Harry sprung up again. "Like, is there someone that it is focused on? Is that the problem? You don't know who it is, and you need this person to cure you?"
"No, Harry." Severus didn't think he could feel any more exhausted. "Not in my case. The cure…" Snape struggled to swallow, throat dry, and Harry fed him some water before Snape could speak again. He sighed, tangling his fingers in the bedclothes again. He looked away, not wanting to see the pity in Harry's eyes. "The cure is, as they say, true love's kiss. And as you can see from my lonely bedside, there is no one befitting that description in my life."
"I'm here, aren't I?" Harry blurted, as though he was resentful not to be counted as a person. Apparently, he only realised what he'd said when Severus whipped his head around to stare at him, for he flushed, but soldiered on anyway in true Gryffindor fashion. "I mean, your bedside isn't lonely. Oh, hell." Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair again, then fixed Snape with a steely stare. "Fuck that. This kiss — must both parties be in love?"
Severus scanned his lovely face. Surely he couldn't mean that—? But he could see the truth even without Legilimens, and he wondered why he hadn't ever seen it before. Against everything his mind was yelling at him — it's a trick; it's his saviour complex; he's deluded — were also the words Poppy had thrown at him before. That there were others, before this man, who had wanted to know him. That could have loved him if he'd only been willing to see it. That he could have loved.
He didn't know what to believe anymore. He wanted to say, kiss me and find out. But instead, he only said, "No. Only… the unaffected party."
Harry was silent and still, after that, and with each second, doubt and fear crept back into his mind. It's hopeless, it whispered. It has always been hopeless. No one has or ever will truly love you, and least of all the last of your heart's desire. You will die a lonely and heartbroken man, and not only is it what you deserve, it's what you've expected all along. Nothing about this is at all surprising. In fact, you should be comforted that at least it has come on now. There will be no more decades of suffering.
But then Harry curled a hand around his neck, and slotted their lips together.
For a moment, there was nothing but the shocking sensation of dry lip against dry lip, and the heat of another person against his face. Then, the lick of a tongue against his bottom lip — and it was like his whole body came back to life again, the pleasure so sharp it was actually painful to experience. His muscles seized and he gasped, the incoming air tinged with the breath of another person and the indescribable taste of life. He recaptured Harry's lips even as his heart pounded painfully against his ribs: double time, extra hard. It both was and was not the same ache he'd been feeling for months, at first so sharply acute that he thought it would truly escape from the confines of his ribcage, but after the initial shock, he realised that was more like it had finally started to function normally again, sending his blood rushing steadily through his system, warming him from the inside out. He hadn't even realised that he had been so cold before.
Only then, when his body had decided to resume normal function and begin sending all its messages to his brain again, did he realise that he was gripping Harry's arms rather forcefully. For an insane moment, he was afraid he was sucking the life out of the man like a ghastly wraith, and wrenched his lips away with equal force to check.
They separated with twin gasps, Severus' desperate look met by Harry's confused one, which quickly turned fearful. "Are— are you okay?" Harry breathed, not moving from where he was put. Severus could feel the weight borne by Harry's forearms onto his chest.
He quickly appraised Harry, immensely relieved that he still looked as youthful and vibrant as ever. "I have never been better," Severus blurted. When was the last time he'd ever, ever said anything that hadn't been considered to death? Possibly not since he had been a very young child, he thought, but if it had happened, he didn't remember it. He flushed, then made himself pry his fingers away from Harry's arms. "I'm—" sorry? Grateful? In shock? He didn't quite know what he was feeling, about anything. He didn't finish his sentence, but just stared at Harry.
Harry slowly moved back from him, and Severus regretted the loss immediately. He didn't go far, though, and continued to sit beside him on the bed, their hips touching. It appeared he didn't know what to say either, staring back at Severus. Finally, he settled on, "You're really feeling better? It… worked?"
"Yes," Severus confirmed, unable to draw his gaze away from the green gaze, from the smile that lit his face. How… how was any of this possible? His mind spun with the implication.
"Good. I'm glad. Obviously." Harry chuckled nervously, and made as if he wanted to hold Severus' hand again, but aborted his movement before he could touch him.
Severus closed the last inch to lay his hand over Harry's. They both looked at it. "There is not a word adequate to describe my surprise, Harry."
"Yeah. I wasn't going to tell you like this, obviously. I had a plan and everything."
"Really? A plan…to court me?"
"Well, yeah. And it was going so well, too." He drew his brows together. "Was it? Going well?"
Snape mirrored his confusion. "You mean— you'd begun?" He started to laugh, then tightened his grip on Harry's hand when he started to draw it away. "Harry, wait. Please. Forgive me. I am… unused to this." He turned his words over in his mind for a while, trying to find the most elegant and efficient manner to communicate all he wanted to say. In a way, it was a relief to know that Harry loved him, that it had been shown to him in as indisputable a manner as there could possibly be. Who knew how long he would have doubted Harry's affection otherwise? Still, he had to convince the man that his feelings, such as they were, were not borne out of abject gratitude or desperation, but had been present long before the blasted poison had affected him so.
"Harry," he begun, "I am not a man that is easy to get to know, or to love. But somehow you have done both. I laughed because you have appeared to be courting my friendship, for reasons previously mysterious to me, and it has been both a torment and a joy in equal measure. Each week, when you come to my chambers, I have been terrified of slipping, of showing you what I feel in some subconscious, unintended manner. Me, the man who was the Dark Lord's confidante and his ultimate betrayer. I should be more confident in my abilities to subvert, should I not?
"I laugh also at myself, because despite our history you do know me. Well enough to know that I would have slammed the door in your face if you'd simply told me what you felt from the beginning. Even after these years of being your friend, the sad truth is I might still have done so, for how could I so easily trust that I could have something so good in my life? But I cannot doubt your saving kiss, Harry. Magic would not have recognised it to lift the potion's effects otherwise."
Harry blinked slowly, looking as if he was having trouble processing all that he'd said. That was fine by Severus; he was used to Harry being a little slow on the uptake, and neither of them seemed to be going anywhere in the short term anyway. Finally, he said, voice weak and unsteady, "What… does that mean?"
"It means that I am glad to know that you love me. And that… I feel the same."
"You love me?" Harry said, stunned all over again.
"I don't see any other explanation for why it took me three months before I even realised I had been poisoned."
"You love me," he repeated.
"If you want me to prove it, I can dose you with Marcesco once I've fully regained my strength to brew it."
"No," Harry said firmly. "No, that's…I just— Really?"
"Merlin," Severus muttered. "How I ever fell for such an idiot is beyond me."
"Hey!"
"Potter," he sighed dramatically. "Much more of this and I am going to be mortally offended."
"No, no, let's not do that ever again." Harry gave him a soft smile, which turned into a grin as he settled over Severus again. "You love me."
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Can I kiss you again?"
"Please."
So Harry kissed him again, and when Poppy and Minerva came back to check on them an hour later, they found Harry propping his head up with an arm, his face mere inches from Severus' as they spoke to each other. The soft gazes on each of their faces told them everything they needed to know, and they creeped away with satisfied smiles, leaving them to their privacy for a while longer.