Please read warnings!
Eight Months and Forever
“I hate him,” Harry lay on the couch and spoke for the first time in four sessions. The Muggle sitting on the chair next to him never said a word. Harry stared at the crumbling ceiling above him. He vaguely wondered if the psychiatrist has ever lain on the couch to see what his patients saw. The popcorn ceiling created odd shadows from the fading sunlight that filtered through the windows. The shadows resembled faces – faces of those he did not wish to see. He wanted to scream, but refused.
“Actually, I hate all of them.” He closed his eyes. The faces became clearer and he quickly opened his eyes again.
The buzzer rang. Their session was up. That was fine with Harry. He didn’t think he could say anything more at that point anyway. He quickly sat up and sped out of the door.
As he left he thought he heard a weak, “And see you on Wednesday, Mr. Potter.” Poppy Pomfrey had found a female doctor. Harry assumed it was because she thought he would feel more comfortable with one given the circumstances. She didn’t know Bellatrix LeStrange at all.
Another week passed before Harry spoke again. He no longer lay down as requested. He thought maybe he never would again. He slept in his recliner in the living room when he slept at all. Instead, he paced the floor staring at the fading patterns of the aging Oriental rug. He had to keep moving. If he stood still – those patterns resolved themselves into moving images – images of faces mocking him, bodies undulating, limbs trapping him in place and worst of all – his own face looking back.
The soft voice finally spoke something other than, “Good morning, Mr. Potter – please sit.” or “Good day, Mr. Potter. I’ll see you next time.”
“You said you hated them. I think that’s understandable. They did terrible things.”
Harry stopped and glared at her. Soft skin, soft face, soft body. She reminded him of a blond Mrs. Weasley which he thought he should be able to take comfort in – and yet, it was one more reminder of the bloody mess he’d made for himself. If only he hadn’t said that blasted name and been captured…
“You think you know, don’t you?” Harry asked. “You think you understand?” He started pulling at his hair again as he walked back and forth. “What the fuck could you know about it?” Harry hadn’t told her anything. He assumed Madame Pomfrey must have given her some background on her patient - or at least the Muggle version: a young man captured by some kind of gang and held hostage and tortured for months. He plucked another few hairs out as he paced.
“Your hair…” she reminded him about his ongoing issues with Trichotillomania. As if he cared. She had given him suggestions on how to stop himself by distracting himself with other things the first time they met. He hadn’t implemented them.
“Fuck my hair!” He knew he had bald spots from where he couldn’t stop pulling on it.
Maybe he should shave it all off for now. No one would then be able to use it to force him again. He glamoured it now so no one would tell what was wrong. He could do the same until he broke himself of the habit. If he didn’t have hair, he couldn’t pull it out.
Of course, she insisted it wouldn’t truly resolve itself until he spoke. How could he discuss it? No - he couldn’t tell the doctor that because then he would have to talk about what happened; about why he couldn’t stop himself from ripping the hair out of his own head. After all – that’s what they did – each and every one of them yanked his hair as if it were a leash. Pulled it to force his compliance, sometimes ripping it out with their bare hands.
The first time was an accident. She had obviously done something to temporarily increase her strength as she was throwing him around as if he were a ragdoll. Sharp talon-like nails clawed into his head as she drug him around the room which was littered with debris. The sharp edges of transfigured broken glass cut into his naked skin. He felt a rip and suddenly he was let go and she stood staring at the clump of hair in her hand. “Look at the little souvenir I have from our time together, little baby Potter. I’ll be so happy to have a little something to remember you by when HE finally tires of you.” The cackling voice reverberated in his memory.
He shuddered as he recalled when she decided it was a good idea to have a souvenir from every one of her visits. How could a Muggle doctor understand that the brief sting from pulling on it himself both empowered him and distracted him from a deeper and more crushing pain; that he could shift the guilt from the knowledge that the loss he bore was his fault to start with (‘If only I hadn’t said that name,’ the thought echoed yet again) into a self-punishment he could visibly see and that, in itself, made him feel better. He found it to be a release of sorts when his head became too crowded and consumed with memories. Logically his mind told him it was not a healthy habit. He may not want to address the reason, but he could address the symptom. He knew he had to do something. Time was running out. He resolved to look at the list the doctor had given him that first visit.
“Mr. Potter?” the feminine voice asked, too reminiscent of her.
He walked out.
He felt better the moment he saw all his hair on the floor. He had shaved it himself. It took a few days to stop automatically reaching up to tug on hair that didn’t exist. Instead, he found the cigarettes that had been sitting there for weeks. Hermione had brought them. She was the only one who had seen what he had been doing but didn’t say anything. She had shown up and handed him a pack and said, “Try this next time.”
He cried and she held him. It was the hardest thing he had ever done – to let her hold him. She believed his tears and trembling were cathartic. He didn’t have the heart to tell her she was the cause. He didn’t like being held.
‘Liar,’ a voice said inside him. He ignored it. He would never hear that voice again. He lit the cigarette. It was herbal, but it was better than nothing. Certainly better than the sharp knives he’d been eyeing longingly. He wouldn’t give in to them though. Bellatrix would then have won.
“Ooh – baby Potter. I’m going to make you beg me to cut you,” she had repeated over and over as she carved her initials over his body.
Part of him was sad they had healed the scars. It made it seem not real. He should have a record on his body of what he had gone through.
He laughed. He supposed in a way he did. He marked another day off the calendar. Another day closer. He knew he would have to deal with this sooner rather than later.
“Everyone hated them,” Harry said the next time he actually made his appointment. “They killed people. They tortured people. Who could have ever liked them?”
The blonde smiled at him gently. It irritated him that she treated him like he was fragile. He hadn’t broken, dammit. He made it and had killed Voldemort in the end.
“Everyone hated them collectively. They were bad people.” Harry spit as he looked through the grimy window to the alley below. The woman was obviously not a great doctor or she’d have had better accommodations. But she was Muggle and he was unknown to her. No one other than Hermione, Poppy Pomfrey and he would ever know he’d been there. Poppy had said she specialized in these types of cases and could be trusted. Apparently she had sought out several Muggle doctors in the world to help her with cases that could or would not be treated properly in the Wizarding World for one reason or another. Harry wondered how she found them. He suspected the little flyers he’d seen in Muggle grocery stores over the years where you would snip a small piece of paper with a phone number on it.
If the doctor ever wondered why she would suddenly change the topic if she ever attempted to talk about him outside of this room, well Dr. Amelia Carruthers would never suspect the charms that had been placed on her. Harry suspected the Aurors would frown upon his actions but he didn’t care. Where the hell had they been in the eight months he’d been captured?
“I hated them on a very individual basis,” Harry said, voice tight before taking a drag. He was surprised the doctor had allowed him to smoke in the building, but given the overall rundown appearance of the office, he supposed additional smoke wouldn’t do any damage to the ghastly fabrics.
“Lucius I hated because he acted as if I was beneath him – and I don’t just mean physically,” he said with a pained laugh.
This was the first time he had mentioned a name. Harry thought he would choke on it almost as he did when forced to suck the man’s cock.
“Was he the one who raped you?”
Harry snorted. “You think it was just one person?!”
For the first time the woman looked surprised. Harry almost gloated over breaking her stoic expression. He knew she had guessed he’d been raped while he was kidnapped. He thought she suspected a gang had taken him hostage and held him for some time.
“So how many were there?” she asked. Harry threw his cigarette on the floor and stomped it out angrily before storming out of the office. He didn’t leave the cash he usually used to pay for the session.
Everyone wanted him to help rebuild Hogwarts. They said it would be good if he kept ‘busy’. Fat lot they knew. He knew they all suspected the truth but no one outside of Hermione and the Weasleys asked him anything. They all thought “It’s Harry – he’ll be fine”. Or those that didn’t know were complete idiots if they didn’t have any idea of what Death Eaters did to their captives. Harry didn’t have time for those people. Physically, he had healed quickly at Madame Pomfrey’s hands, but mentally…well he had a ways to go and he knew it. He couldn’t be bothered to keep up a front.
Ron was having the hardest time of his closest companions. Harry could tell. He knew his friend wanted to be there but was distinctly uncomfortable. Harry couldn’t be sure it was because of Harry’s experiences at the hands of their enemies or what had happened prior to that. He wondered if Ron blamed himself at all. Selfishly, Harry did at times. If only Ron had held both Harry and Hermione when Dobby was Apparating them out of Malfoy Manor, it wouldn’t have mattered that he had let go of his rescuer to deflect the dagger Bellatrix had thrown. They had all vanished and left him behind with a knife firmly embedded in his right hand.
The hand still pained him at times. He wondered if it was real or what people called a “phantom” pain. It was his first at the hands of his captors but certainly not the last. He used it as his excuse to not help rebuild Hogwarts. He needed to be away from people.
Instead, he avoided all of them most of the time, only appearing for Sunday suppers in an effort to keep up appearances. Hermione was the only one he saw more often and he knew she was worried. He also knew she understood better than everyone given what Bellatrix had done to her. He was grateful Hermione had only been at her hands for a couple of hours and the woman never left her alone with either Scabior or Fenrir. Given what he now knew of those two – he doubted Hermione would have survived.
“Oh – Mr. Potter – you looked so much more charming with that ugly hex on your face. You look better all swollen up and bruised. Shall we improve your looks a bit then?” Scabior had taunted before proceeding to just about knock the teeth out of Harry. Strung up as he had been, Harry could have hardly defended himself from those fists.
And, Fenrir – well Fenrir didn’t bear thinking on yet. Harry was just grateful he hadn’t been turned or allowed access to Potter when it was full moon. New moon was the only time Fenrir was allowed to visit since he was most able to control his animal instincts then. Still, didn’t stop his desire for blood and tearing into tender flesh. He just didn’t do it with his teeth. Harry hated the nights of the new moon.
Harry spent his time fixing up an old run down house he’d found. He did it without magic. He would work from dawn and through most of the night until he was exhausted enough to collapse in his chair for a few hours. He knew he’d have to get the house done soon. After all, it had been three months since he’d been found. He wouldn’t be able to do things much longer.
He also got a cat. Ron had suggested a dog for security. Harry couldn’t bear to face a dog yet. Not after Rodolphus’ sick, practical joke after Bellatrix had found some of Sirius’ hair. He could still hear them laughing as he screamed. He had always been grateful that polyjuice didn't magically make someone capable of turning into the person's animagus form. Harry could have never survived that.
“So tell me about Lucius,” Amelia asked. “He was arrogant?”
Harry wanted to leave the room to have this discussion and for the first time regretted the charm they used. Instead he sat behind her desk and put his feet up on it. It felt good to sit behind a desk. It kept something between them. He leaned back.
“He thought his family was superior to everyone else. He loathed me. Truthfully I think he just wanted me out of the way, but Tom Riddle’s order stood and he followed.”
“Tom Riddle?” the woman asked. “Was this Lucius not the leader?”
Harry laughed. He refused to call his former enemy “Lord Voldemort” anymore – not after all the times the monster made Harry say it while he was inside Harry.
“Oh…my Lord…you feel so good my Lord, please my lord, fuck me harder…”
It had made Harry want to bite off his own tongue.
Breaking his memory, he refuted the doctor. “No – Lucius was his second in command – maybe third. Not really sure anymore…”
“But he did rape you?”
Harry knew she was saying the word more often to get him used to it. She didn’t know all the other words he had gotten used to in his time: whore, slut, cocksucker, hole, cunt. Not just hearing them – but saying them as well. At seventeen he thought he’d heard and seen just about everything. At least he hoped he had.
“Yes. Quite often.”
“But if he didn’t like you…”
“You of all people should know rape is not about desire but about power. If there’s one thing Lucius loved it was power. Not as much as Riddle but close.”
“I realize that. I just meant there are other ways to exert power. Not all violent criminals perform sexual violence. Were you subjected to other types of abuse?”
Harry stood and thought back to all of those painful scenarios. At best the blond man would throw a Cruciatus at him before ordering him to prepare himself. Harry thought that was the only way the man got hard was by watching Harry’s pain but he could be counted on for sticking to the basics as Voldemort did.
“At Lucius’ hands? Hardly. He barely wanted to sully himself with fucking me – but Riddle ordered them to. At least once a day someone had to be sure I was ‘used.’ I believe was the term Riddle preferred.”
The woman paled. Again, Harry felt a sort of thrill over his power to shut the woman up. It made him gag a little at his own darker thoughts. He needed to get this cleared up as much as he loathed putting himself out there. He had things to do, a life to move forward on. He needed this behind him. He needed a clean bill of health from Poppy before he’d be allowed to do whatever it was he wanted to do. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. The Wizengamot was generous in allowing Poppy to oversee Harry’s recovery since Harry trusted no one at St. Mungo's. Actually it was her suggestion that he be allowed to leave and take outpatient counseling. They had wanted him committed full time. Harry was sure if he had been locked up again he truly would have gone nuts. He wanted to not prove them right.
He took a deep breath. “No. He never even bothered to undress. Mostly he told me to “assume the position” in so many words and then he got to it. Of course, his son took a little more pleasure in humiliating me.”
The woman blanched again. “His son? How old was he?”
“My age. We went to school together. Took great delight in telling me I should have taken his hand when we first met because maybe then I wouldn’t be taking his prick all the time.”
The buzzer rang and the woman jumped. Harry was sure she was grateful for the end of the session. It was the most he had ever said about his experiences. Draco fucking him had been far worse than his father. To be honest – Lucius had been the easiest of the lot to deal with. Maybe that’s why Harry spoke of him first.
“Mr. Potter, perhaps you should come back tomorrow at the same time,” the woman said softly.
He nodded without looking at her. He’d change his schedule. After all – he was just installing a new bath tub the next day. And maybe if he met with her more often, he could resolve things quicker. After all – he only had less than half a year to be ready.
“Did Tom Riddle rape you as well?” After a session dwelling on the madness that ran in the Malfoy family, Dr. Carruthers seems to have decided it was time to move on.
Harry picked at his fingernails. They were beginning to bleed. A new bad habit. He ran his hand over his head and now felt a little stubble coming back. He had been surprised his hair had not grown back the day after he shaved it as it always had as a child. Maybe it was because he’d wanted it short. That would be a first – something he wanted to not have happen – not actually happening.
“Do you honestly need to ask that?”
“I want to hear you admit it.”
“Fine – yes. TOM RIDDLE RAPED ME!” Harry screamed at the top of his lungs. As he looked out the window, he saw several people in the street look up curiously. He knew that they couldn’t have understood his words, but they certainly heard the scream. Within moments, they all turned back to what they were doing. He wondered if all people turned away from the sound of pain.
“Feel better?” She asked.
He turned and leaned against the window sill. “Actually, yes. I think I do. Maybe I’ll try screaming more often.”
“Why do you think he did this to you?”
“He tried to kill me as a baby. He didn’t and it pissed him off, I guess.” How else could he describe one of the darkest wizards in history to a Muggle?
“Why on earth did he try to kill you as a child? Did he ever tell you?”
“Why do sociopaths do anything?” he said calmly. It was sometimes hard to remember how to couch things in Muggle terms and still be honest. In some cases, it just couldn’t be done.
There was a long silence. Harry began looking through some books on the shelf.
“Do you blame yourself?” she asked, breaking the quiet.
“Why the fuck should I do that? Blame the victim – that’s rich! Did I want it – did I become a little whore for them? Is that what you want to know? How much I loved getting reamed with little to no preparation? ‘Except for…’ How they shoved cocks, toys, knives into me ‘Except for…’ ? How they whipped me, beat me, stripped me, humiliated and insulted me, ‘Except for…’
Harry collapsed onto the floor and began crying. He curled up onto his side and wept. Memories flooded him. The doctor never said anything, but sat there until he had cried himself out.
Eventually he stood and wiped his eyes, exhausted. Maybe he should be mortified – but he’d lost that ability some time into the third month of his captivity.
He grabbed a tissue from the doctor’s desk and blew his nose.
“You may be wondering why I didn’t hand you that tissue,” she said calmly. He didn’t look at her, still lost in several of the memories as he gazed into the street. A street he’d never seen before coming here so he both loved and hated it. It reminded him of the fact that he survived, but of also how he had survived. He didn’t really care what the doctor thought.
“If I had handed it to you, it would have been a signal that I thought you should be done with this bout of grieving. You would have tried to stop crying to accommodate that expectation.”
Harry thought it sounded like bullshit until he remembered the few times someone did hand him a tissue and he had done just that. Ron in the infirmary, Hermione at the house, Mr. Weasley shortly after he’d been found.
“No one but you, Mr. Potter, can decide when you’re done grieving.”
He nodded again without turning.
He’d taken to replacing the roof. He should have really done that first, but he was used to doing things out of order. It was hard work and hot now that it was turning summer yet again.
One year – one year to the day now since his first night at Malfoy Manor. That’s what had broken him that afternoon. He hadn’t even realized it until he looked at the calendar earlier when Hermione had called just before his appointment. He should have gone drinking afterwards. Instead, he was pounding nails into the roof at midnight.
Midnight…he always tried to be busy at midnight now.
“At midnight, I want you to think of me and stroke yourself to completion,” the voice had whispered in his ear. “I’ll be thinking of you as well and how much I want to be in you. I’ll come thinking of you wishing you were hot and hard beside me. Of how your beautiful green eyes darken just before you come. Of how your chest flushes red when I suckle your nipples. Of how lovely you taste.”
BANG! Harry managed to pound the hammer into his thumb. The pain throbbed just as he heard the chime of the clock striking twelve and the thought of how his prick used to throb the same way at midnight after those excursions began. He hated it and ran in to take a very cold shower in the tub he’d installed earlier. The unfinished roof provided an open view of the night sky. Harry had spelled an Impervius Charm to protect the unfinished areas. At least it wasn’t the new moon.
“What do you want to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are your plans for the future?”
“No bloody idea,” Harry snarled. “Why do I have to be doing something? Haven’t I fucking done enough?”
“You’ve been through a lot, but that’s not the same thing.”
“I killed one of the vilest men in history. I think that’s plenty.”
“And the others?”
“I didn’t kill them. Well – I didn’t kill all of them – and not on purpose. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“And how do you feel about killing Tom Riddle?”
“Fantastic.” Harry spit out and he meant it.
“He was still a man. It’s not easy to kill someone on purpose – even someone evil.”
“You know that for sure? Have you killed someone, doctor? Someone who killed your parents and countless others? Have you? I think not – so, no, it was very easy to kill him. Well – it wasn’t easy to kill him otherwise it wouldn’t have taken me eight bloody months to do so. It was just easy to accept that I had. I feel no guilt on that stand.”
“What do you feel guilty for then?”
“Nothing!” ‘Everything’ “Why should I feel guilty?” Harry asked without looking at her.
“I didn’t say you should. I said you do.”
“Well – you’re wrong. I don’t.” ‘Liar’
There was a long pause as she scribbled notes. Harry thought most likely she was doing crosswords rather than actually writing anything useful. His mind flipped back to a long evening in October watching the guard scribbling notes on his “Account” journal when his special present had shown up. He remembered wondering if he could ask to borrow the pen and poking his own eye out with it. Would it have killed him? He wondered if he could bring himself to do that if he knew for sure.
“We have a box for you, Mr. Potter,” the guard said. This one was named Jerry. Harry had had two guards – both of whom were eunuchs and not allowed to touch Harry. Other than not letting him out, they were really rather cordial to him. He suspected they were Imperiused as they always had a slack-jawed look about them.
Their job was to ensure that each of Harry’s visitors proved they had “used” him and make note of it for their Lord who wanted to know of each visitor that Harry ‘entertained’. They had just done such verification after a lengthy joint visit from Crabbe and Goyle Senior. Harry assumed Voldemort then requested a ‘report’ from his senior Death Eaters. Probably a penseive recording so the Snake could enjoy each and every humiliation Harry endured. Probably also explained why Lucius never undressed.
Only the inner circle was allowed to visit. He assumed the ‘gift’ was from one of them. Harry opened the box. Inside was a dildo – not so unlike the ones Bellatrix liked to play with. There was a note.
“I cannot see you this evening as I planned. Use this at midnight and think of me. I shall know if you’ve done so the next time I see you.” It was unsigned but he suspected he knew who the giver was. Only one of his ‘caretakers’ cared if he ever got off. Certainly that day’s visitors had not, but Harry also never needed it with their visits. They were brutish, thuggish and smelled horrible which made Harry grateful he didn’t vomit, let alone become aroused. At least he didn’t bleed with them.
That night, as he accidentally moaned the name of his suspected gift-giver, his suspicions were confirmed. The dildo changed and conformed to be the exact shape, size and feel of the man he named.
“How did you escape anyways?”
Broken from his reverie, Harry glared at her but he didn’t see her. All he saw was a large nose and long black hair as he looked up. The memory of a deep voice whispered into his ear, “You can do this, Harry. You’re ready. We’re ready. The last Horcrux is gone and he’ll return tonight for you.” Harry had felt sick. Voldemort needed to be killed but he would have to go through one more night because it would require every ounce of power he had within him. He thought of the sacrifice to come and wanted to cry. What was one life compared to what that monster was doing?
He pulled himself out before that memory played to its inevitable conclusion. He couldn’t - wouldn’t think about it. Why couldn’t he have been blessed with amnesia like many trauma victims?
“Saw an opportunity. Took it. Stabbed the fucker in the eye.” Harry said before leaving the session early. This time he remembered to leave the cash. He didn’t explain he had also cast the killing curse at the same time as he stuck the wand that had been hidden underneath the pillow by his earlier visitor into Voldemort’s eye. But he’d had to wait – had to wait until that fucker had come inside him to fuel the magical power needed to actually kill him. That all that magical power had backlashed and had blown up most of the Manor and a number of people within it.
When Harry had woken, he was more surprised than anyone that he hadn’t blown up with it. He’d stumbled out of the ruins, found Draco’s armoire blasted halfway across the courtyard, and stolen a lightly burnt robe from it before staggering off the grounds. He still had the wand in his hands with Voldemort’s blood on it. Wiping it on the ground, he used it to Apparate to the only place he could remember how to Apparate to: the Burrow. He was grateful he hadn’t managed to splinch himself. Even more grateful it was Molly that found him and not Ron or Ginny.
Into the fifth month after his escape, the house was nearly finished. The nightmares had begun to diminish and he no longer took cold showers at midnight. He had finished setting up furniture in one of the rooms and sat down to take a break.
He rubbed his abdomen which was aching. A lot about him was aching these days. After unbuttoning a button, he felt better. He rubbed his belly for a bit and the clock began to strike. Harry reached down and began to stroke himself. It had been a while but his neglected cock didn’t want to be neglected anymore. It ached along with the rest of him.
Harry closed his eyes and felt the warm weight of his prick in his hand. He stroked and fondled it. Twisted and pinched, he reached under to cup his balls and gently squeeze them – squeezing out images of Draco clamping them down or Fenrir threatening to bite them off. Instead he forced himself to remember long lean fingers that had actually held them gently, of a long tongue that had lovingly bathed them. He tried to picture other people, people he didn’t know, but the violent memories always swam back – Scabior biting, Bellatrix cutting – the only thing that washed out those memories were real memories. Fantasies weren’t strong enough. And the only real memories that were remotely gentle were the ones of the only person he really didn’t want to think of, but could no longer stop himself. The only man that had made him come regularly. That had learned all of Harry’s erogenous zones and never berated him for them, but encouraged Harry’s enjoyment.
He hardened thinking of those dark eyes and firm lips and swelled painfully. He needed to come but just couldn’t get over the edge. Instead, memories were hammering in his head but he couldn’t stop himself.
“You want to be fucked, don’t you, boy?” Rodolphus had mocked.
“Love my cock in your arse, Potter? Tell me how much,” Draco panted in his face. The blond git always insisted on face to face. He loved hearing Harry admit how much better the Malfoys were. “You love the Malfoy cocks in you. Tell me – do you like mine or my father’s better?” The git had a real thing about his father.
Harry opening himself up with his thumbs to the older Malfoy and begging to be fucked. “Take it, Potter. Open your worthless ass to me,” Lucius growled before slamming into Harry.
“Lil’ Baby Potter has such a slutty little ass,” Bellatrix would say as she shoved her entire fist into Harry.
Harry didn’t feel the tears begin dripping out of his eyes until he had rolled over and began fingering his ass with one hand while he stroked with the other.
He slid one finger inside and thrust gently back and forth calling up another memory.
“Your ass feels so tight, so hot, Harry. Merlin, you feel so good to me. That’s it, open up and take my cock. Does it feel good?” A slow, gentle rocking and large hands re-angling Harry’s hips until the cock inside him struck his prostate and Harry yowled in pleasure.
Another hand had reached and begun stroking Harry’s prick. No one ever touched his prick except to punish it. He had never felt such tender pleasure.
“You really are beautiful, Harry,” the man said and kissed him softly as he gently rocked him into completion. Harry had cried tears that day too. It was the first time one of his captors had been gentle.
Harry came with a grunt and collapsed onto the floor crying again as those memories filled him. Would he never again be able to have sex without those thoughts?
“Were you a virgin?”
Harry rubbed his head and felt the shock of short hair there. At least he wasn’t pulling it out anymore. It was growing back faster than he expected.
“No,” Harry answered succinctly. And it was true. At least they hadn’t taken that. But neither his fumbling first time with a girl nor his embarrassing first time with a guy were fodder for discussion since they involved his two best friends. They’d been on the run and Hermione had discussed the possible scenarios for torture if they were captured. Rape was one of those possibilities. Hermione had also mentioned the possible use of virginal sacrifices for Dark spells so she decided they should remove that from the equation. It had made for a long, awkward night that they all agreed to never mention again. He loved his friends, but he didn’t “love” his friends though it had been clear they loved each other.
“Are you gay?”
“I hadn’t decided then and I’m still not so sure.” Harry answered honestly. “Thought I was in love with a girl – two in fact. But I found them both rather – squishy – when I kissed them. But I hadn’t really thought of guys either. I noticed I was watching Professional Quidditch for more than just the game but mostly I was too busy to worry about it.”
“Too busy? What teenager is too busy to think about sex?” She smiled with a small laugh.
‘Oh I don’t know – one who’s the Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, Tri-Wizard Champion and annual target of the world’s craziest psycho wizard,’ he thought. He couldn’t tell her that though.
“Maybe I’m just a late bloomer?” he laughed along with her as if he knew how absurd it was to be a teenager with no sexual thoughts. “Although – I believe I have more than made up for my lack of experience. I think I’m burnt out.” The edge in his voice was sharper than he had hoped it would be.
“Perhaps you are asexual – these experiences are an anomaly and you shouldn’t judge your future interests based on them.”
Harry thought back to the previous night. “I wish I was,” he said remembering how unexpectedly aroused he would get knowing Severus Snape was going to visit.
She was looking through her notes. “On our first visit, you said you hated him,” she said unexpectedly. “Who’s ‘him’.”
“I said, “Them,” Harry answered.
“No – you corrected yourself. I quote “I hate him. Actually, I hate all of them. So who is the original “him”? Was that Lucius Malfoy? He was the first one you mentioned.”
Harry laughed. He certainly hated Lucius but probably least of all of them.
“Then who? Fenrir? Sounds like his visits were the most painful.”
She was right – they were. Like his visits with Bellatrix, Harry was usually left bloody for the guards to find and call for a healer. Bellatrix couldn’t knot up inside him like Fenrir could, even if her fists sometimes felt like it. He should hate Fenrir, but he was a monster in so many ways, Harry couldn’t hate him the most. That was saved for…
“Severus Snape, you haven’t mentioned him.”
Harry’s face paled. How had she known his name? Harry was sure she had never mentioned him.
“He was in this gang as well? An undercover cop if I’ve heard correctly.”
Hermione must have told her. He seethed rage. He would kill her. He had trusted her. Or maybe Poppy? Harry calmed – Hermione would not have done that. It had to have been Poppy. And as bad as that was, it was more understandable. He just wasn’t ready to talk about it.
“I don’t know where you heard that,” Harry mumbled, trying to delay.
“I have my sources, Mr. Potter, and no your friend has not betrayed you.” She smiled reassuringly. Harry was confused. How would she know about Severus? It had to be Poppy, he was convinced of it now.
“So, if Mr. Snape was one of the gang members, I assume he visited you as well. I understand he was deep undercover for quite some time and had risen in the ranks.”
“He…was...er, he did…” Harry stammered. He was beginning to breathe heavily, feeling panicky.
“And yet, you’ve not mentioned him at all. You have named every other member that visited you and told me of your experiences with them. Why is that? Is he the one you hate the most?”
Harry wanted to run, but instead he fell to his knees, tears beginning to fall. “Yes…” he whispered.
“Why is that? Because he was supposed to be the hero and rescue you? He was a cop but left you to them. You should be angry about that. Not only that, he used you himself instead of rescuing you. I’d be livid if it were me.” She sounded very sure of herself but she was wrong.
“No – he did rescue me…he…saved me,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
She stilled, a confused look crossed her face. “I thought…nevermind. If he saved you, then why do you hate him more than anyone else?”
He barely made it a whisper, “I hate him because he made me like it…”
“Harry, I’m sorry I have to do this but they’ll check…” Severus Snape seemed nervous. Harry couldn’t have cared. He’d already been had by at least six others. What was one more, even if it was his former greasy git of a Professor? He was already naked so he just rolled over and spread his legs. “Get it over with, Snape.”
Harry felt the bed sag as the Professor sat next to him. “When was the last time you bathed? Or ate for that matter?”
“How the fuck should I know? How long have I been here?”
“Four days,” Snape answered.
Harry felt a cleansing charm wash over him. “It's not as good as a bath, but I’ll see to it. Wait here a moment.”
“Like I could go anywhere,” Harry muttered and then looked to see where Snape was going. Snape had gone over to the door and banged on it.
“Done so soon, Professor?” Jerry, the guard asked.
A snicker could be heard from Carl, the other guard, “Must be a short shot. Imagine that git never gets laid.”
“Crucio,” Snape said calmly at the guard that had just insulted him. He only held it a few seconds but it had shocked Harry to see Snape so callous.
“Now then – if you’re done discussing my attributes, I prefer my fucktoys with a little meat on them and energy for the activities I have planned. Has the Dark Lord ordered the boy starved?”
“No sir,” Jerry stammered looking at his friend on the floor. “We just weren’t given orders to bring him food.”
Harry heard Snape take a deep breath in irritation. “Well then, you doddering imbeciles, consider these standing orders unless the Dark Lord contradicts them. I expect three square meals a day to be delivered to Mr. Potter along with adequate drinking water. Have the house elves bring a healthy portion of whatever the rest of the house is eating. In fact, have a house elf deliver one right now. I like meat on the boys I fuck. If I wanted to fuck a cadaver, I could just Avada Kedavra you and have my way. Is that understood?
“Yes sir,” Jerry agreed.
“And have someone provide a proper bath and toilet. This is Malfoy Manor for Merlin’s sake. There’s no need to keep prisoners in conditions like this."
“But Mr. Malfoy has to…”
“I’ll make sure Mr. Malfoy agrees to this.”
Snape shut the door on his face and stalked back towards Harry who was staring at him.
“Now then – at least you’ll be able to keep your strength up and clean yourself up after your ‘entertainments’.” Snape scrunched his nose as if he smelled something awful.
Harry had been in shock when Snape had given him an update on what he knew but he gave it from the Death Eater’s point of view.
“Yes – that Mudblood and Blood Traitor are quite the nuisance, Mr. Potter. I’m sure my Lord will capture them soon. Mr. Longbottom and Miss Weasley continue to be meddlesome students. I shall be glad once graduation arrives and Longbottom leaves my presence forever.” Harry was grateful to know his friends seemed to be okay. He suspected that’s why Snape had told him but Harry’s Occlumency was as bad as ever so he also suspected that’s why it was said the way it was.
Harry had dove into the sandwiches that were delivered minutes later and Snape had just watched him eat.
Once Harry was done, the other man asked, “Are you ready?”
“I…uh...guess. Thanks for the food Professor Snape.” He had found himself oddly grateful even though he knew the man was about to bugger him. None of the others had offered food or a cleansing charm first. He felt like he owed the man something.
“Would you like me to…uh…” he pointed to the man’s crotch, his face flaming red. He’d already sucked off Draco, Lucius, Scabior and Rodolphus in the last 24 hours alone. He felt like he was a new toy and the kids were breaking him in.
“Thank you – but no, it’s not necessary. I’d hate for you to throw up what you just ate,” Snape said with half a smile. “I’m sure I’m not exactly appetizing.” Harry noticed a pained look on his Professor’s face.
“Come here, Potter,” the man held out his hand. Harry stood and took it. Snape pulled him into his lap and began stroking Harry’s face gently.
“Potter, I deeply regret that you are being forced into this but it’s necessary if I am to ensure your continuing good health. I am not the most attractive man but I will do what I can to make it easier for you.”
Harry was stunned that Snape even cared about his health. Seeing Harry’s look of confusion, he explained.
“I am a Death Eater and I will have you, make no doubt, but I am not into pain as some of my fellows are. This is part of our job as well just as our lord instructs but I don’t like feeling like my bedmates hate me. Although I know you do, I would like to at least have you act as if you don’t.”
“After six years of arguing with you, Professor, that may be difficult.” Harry sort of grinned at him as he felt Snape slowly stroking his skin. At least he now knew people weren’t just raping him because they felt like it but doing it to order – much like torturing and killing Muggles on Voldemort’s orders. At least he understood Lucius Malfoy hadn’t developed some weird attraction to him. Perhaps his son had based on their first encounter, but it made it easier to accept that what they were doing wasn’t all personal, necessarily.
“Indeed. Do your best – as pitiful as I’m sure that would be. Acting is not one of your strong suits.” Snape hesitated and stared at Harry meaningfully. “A teenage boy too skinny and short for his age is not exactly my preference either. Particularly one so prone to breaking the rules. It may actually prove impossible.” He felt Snape’s hands go into his hair and stroke him softly as he tugged the boy down into a kiss. It was surprisingly gentle and soft. Harry noted that Snape smelled nice – even his hair smelled nice, as if he had just showered. He wondered if he had just to see Harry. That small consideration meant a lot.
“Your skin is so soft,” Snape whispered. Harry stared at him in surprise and Snape seemed to catch himself. “I mean, for a boy. Doesn’t mean I like you. You well know I do not,” he said a bit louder. Harry wondered if the guards listened in.
“Of course not, sir.” Harry’s mind was spinning a bit.
Snape had stood up and carried Harry with him to the bed.
He laid Harry gently down and began kissing his body with soft nips and licks. Harry was a little in shock at the attention Snape was laving onto his nipples. Like Lucius, Snape didn’t undress as he centered his attentions on Harry. Snape began stroking Harry’s cock and it felt good. Harry didn’t like that it felt good but it was the first time in days he had, so he decided not to fight it.
He heard Snape whisper a spell and suddenly found himself feeling slick as one finger began to stroke across his anus. That gentle touch caused shivers up and down Harry’s spine. Snape spread Harry’s legs farther apart and slid slowly into him.
It felt good. Better than Harry had ever experienced.
“Why Professor?” he whispered, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. “Why are you being like this – so nice.”
Severus thrust slowly into him again and looked him in the eye. “I’m not nice Potter, but no one should be forced into this. No one. Not even you.”
At first he enjoyed the reprieve Snape gave him from the others. Or at least he didn’t dread it since there was no pain. Snape was always gentle and always tended to Harry’s pleasure as well. Harry noticed that Snape always smelled as if he had freshly showered. He never said much during their sexual encounters but at least he did talk to him beforehand. They may have been banal subjects but at least he spoke with Harry as if Harry were a person. He brought books for Harry to read and played chess with him. They spent hours discussing the books as if they were a small intimate book club for two except Snape seemed to hate most of the books he brought to Harry. Harry didn’t care. He didn’t love them either but he was just grateful to have anything to think about other than his times at the hands of other Death Eaters.
“What’s your favorite book?” Harry finally asked after a couple of months.
He had disliked reading the Diary of Anne Frank. It was a painful experience but he thought he knew why his Professor had brought it the first time. Snape had laughed when he had handed it to him. “Another useless victim. What do Muggles know about War anyway? They’re idiots who always think good will win.” At first Harry had been horrified when he read it until he understood what Snape was trying to do without giving himself away. Because of course – in the end – the Nazis had lost. Harry assumed none of the Death Eaters cared about the books since they were written by Muggles so Snape could get away with giving these to Harry while still trying to teach something to him.
Last time the man had brought Killer Angels by Michael Shaara – another story about another war which confirmed what the man was doing. Books about war – about the victims or the losing sides of those wars. Harry was tired of reading about war but he understood what the man was telling him. There were object lessons in all of them – not to judge everyone based on what was specifically happening to him, not to fall into traps created by your own preconceived notions, not to lose sight of the long term objectives and how smaller sacrifices were required for the greater good. To survive. To survive meant another chance to succeed no matter the cost.
That evening though, he didn’t want to discuss another book about war.
“It’s clear you don’t enjoy books by Muggles you bring to me,” Harry had quipped with a knowing smile since the guard was standing at the door. Once the door shut, Harry knew they were in the clear. Snape had put up silencing charms. The first couple months, no one was allowed to put up Silencing Charms but after it seemed Harry Potter was not going to attempt to escape, Voldemort had relented. He was assured of Potter’s compliance every time a Death Eater had paid Potter a visit. He didn’t care if the guards heard them or not and Lucius had complained about his own privacy being invaded by having them listen.
“I tend to enjoy the British classics like Silas Marner or A Tale of Two Cities. I’ve even been known to indulge in Jane Austen.”
“Didn’t she write romance?” Harry asked with a smile.
“To the casual reader, yes. To the more astute, she was wryly focused on practical social issues, especially marriage and money and had a supremely keen eye for the details of the people around her.”
“I’d like to read those. Would you bring one of those books? I’d like to read something you like.”
Harry had sat stumped and disappointed.
“I would not wish you to someday re-read those books and remember this time. I would not sully them for you,” Severus said quietly and gazed at him sadly. “Now then – our time is about up. I believe I’d like to have your mouth for a change.”
Harry nodded. Snape rarely asked for oral sex but it was usually when he didn’t want Harry pursuing a conversation. Harry realized that Snape had let it slip that he believed that Harry might get out of here and he didn’t want Harry to mention it.
Harry had found he didn’t mind fellatio with Severus. The man performed it on him quite frequently unlike the others so he felt good about returning the favor. It meant the man would come on his face as proof to the guards, but Harry happily exchanged the upcoming humiliation for the softness of feeling Severus’ hands gently smooth through Harry’s ever growing hair. And least when he pulled on it, it was a gentle tug as encouragement rather than enforcing authority. Harry wondered if Severus knew how comforting that was. It was, again, unlike the others who used his hair as a way to force themselves down his throat.
“Potter,” the man had begun a conversation the next visit, “I’ve brought you something else to read. While not Austen, perhaps this will suffice for a change," and handed him a magazine. Harry looked at it. It was called “The New Yorker” and was dated the year previous. There was a bookmark in it. He opened it up to find a short story called “Brokeback Mountain.” He quickly scanned it and realized it was a love story about two men. Two men in love. He blinked up at Snape in an epiphany. Severus Snape was gay.
“Can you call me Harry? No one calls me Harry,” he asked quietly.
“Of course, Harry,” Severus’ eyes had widened and he whispered his agreement just before he kissed Harry gently.
Harry noted afterwards that Severus began talking to him during sex. He whispered in Harry’s ears about how brave he was, how strong and beautiful he was. That voice was seductive and lush. Harry loved hearing it - even if he sometimes suspected Severus was lying to make an abused young man feel better about himself – it was enough to hold onto. At least Severus cared and actually found him to be attractive. Severus Snape was the only thing that made the following months bearable and kept Harry sane.
“You hate him because you enjoyed the sex you had with him?” she asked as if to confirm.
“Yes. At least when it was painful, I could fight it. I could hate them. I knew I was lying when I begged for it from Riddle or Lucius or any of the others…”
“But when you begged him, you did want it.”
“Yes…I was so weak. I liked it. I really was a …”
“You were not any of those things. You said this man was gentle, took care of you, ensured your pleasure?”
“How could I have enjoyed any of that? It was still rape,” Harry felt disgusted with himself. He knew he should call it rape – that’s what everyone else did. But what he and Severus had didn’t feel like that. It hadn’t almost from the beginning.
“Like breathing, it’s just a response to physical stimuli. He evidently took care to learn what pleased you. On top of that, you were in a situation in which he was the only person you could turn to. He made an effort to make your stay not as unpleasant as it could have been. Do not blame yourself for enjoying the few pleasurable attentions you were able to get during that time.”
Harry stilled. It made sense, and yet how could he still feel so strongly about the man? “I loved him," he admitted, “And I hate myself for it.”
“You came to care for Severus Snape? That often happens with captors and their victims, Mr. Potter. It’s called Stockholm Syndrome.”
Harry nodded. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
He began to look forward to their time together until one night when the Dark Lord forced his mind open to see his experiences from Harry’s point of view. Seeing a memory of Snape being so tender with Harry had made him laugh.
“I think our Severus has become a tad too attached to you, my beautiful plaything. No wonder. Where else would an ugly man like him find such a lovely creature like you to spread his legs for him for free?”
“He’s not ugly!” Harry shouted. Voldemort stopped and slapped him.
“Oh – does my little captive believe himself in love?” Voldemort laughed. “I never thought I’d see a real case of Stockholm Syndrome.” Harry looked confused. Voldemort laughed again. “Little Harry Potter thinks the big bad Death Eater loves him because he’s been nice to you. Do you think he’ll save you?” Harry didn’t say anything.
“Do you think he loves you?”
Harry remained silent.
“Severus Snape loves no one but himself. Not even me. But I can give him power. That’s what he really loves. Power and little pretty boys like you. I gave him you. No one else would have him but you, little whore that you are. You have no choice but to let the man fuck you in return for the privilege of having me fuck you. No wonder he fancies himself in love. He’s finally gotten laid.”
Harry was furious and was turning red, trying not to explode. Voldemort was crazy if he thought Harry considered sex with him was a privilege.
“Well, Severus Snape belongs to me and I say he is ugly. Say it,” Voldemort taunted.
Harry refused. Snape had been the only person other than his guards to treat him with anything other than contempt. He wouldn’t betray the man that way.
Voldemort Crucio’d Harry and still Harry refused until Voldemort threatened one last thing. “You belong to me. If you agree that Severus Snape is ugly and that you hate him, I’ll let him return to you for one last time – after he sees my nice little memory of you saying how much more you love me than him. If not, well – I’m sure we can cover his head and use him in ways very similar to you.”
Harry had blanched. He agreed and shouted, “I hate him, I hate him! He’s an ugly, greasy git. I want you My lord – only you!” He had to protect his protector the only way he knew how.
It had killed him a little inside.
It was another month before he saw Severus again. Another month of unending pain and humiliation.
Another month had passed. Another month of introspection and remembrance.
“Do you still think you loved him?”
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about love, doctor, but it was the closest thing I’d ever had to real affection. I can’t go back and change that. I think…I think I really did.”
“What about Hermione or your other friends?”
“They’re friends, just that. No one ever called me beautiful. No one ever held me and looked at me like that. At first I thought it was just pity and he was helping a pathetic former student through a tough time but eventually – I don’t know – sometimes we spent most of our visits just talking even though we had to have sex before he could leave. He just told the guards he’d invented a potion that could maintain erections for a long time. They were stupid enough to believe we’d actually fucked for four hours straight all the time. He knew more about me than I probably knew about myself and he still called me, “stupidly brave and beautiful".” He choked on the words.
“Why was Riddle holding onto you?” She shifted the subject again. He noticed a pattern when things became too painful, she changed the subject. It left him slightly wrong footed. He now couldn’t tell if she was an idiot or she was brilliant.
He thought about her question. Harry couldn’t explain Horcruxes. Severus had let slip that somehow he was an accidental Horcrux. Harry knew that meant he would have to die at some point in order to destroy Voldemort but he had hoped to ensure all the other Horcruxes were gone prior to that.
He shook his head as if he had no idea. “I’m not sure I ever will, but he’s gone so I don’t need to worry about him anymore. To be honest, I haven’t thought about him nearly as much as before.”
“Wonderful. And are you satisfied about the others. Those that survived, that is?”
“I suppose. They are all in jail for a long time.”
“Have you faced them?”
“No – don’t want to. Not sure I need to. I have been sleeping better lately. I’ve been getting more involved with things. I’ve even been out with a few friends besides Ron and Hermione.” He thought back to the supper he had with Neville and Luna. He’d had to cut the evening short because of a panic attack when he saw a Quibbler article on the coffee table about Lucius in Azkaban, but up until that moment, he’d been enjoying himself.
“That’s good. I asked you this before, maybe you’re ready to answer now. What do you want to do with your future?”
“Take it one day at a time. Maybe I’ll finish schooling before doing anything. I didn’t get to finish my final year,” he smiled through the lie.
“Finishing your education is important.”
He couldn’t explain exactly what he would be doing to a Muggle. “I had thought I wanted to be a cop, but now, I don’t think so. I’ve had enough excitement.”
“That’s a start. Eliminate the things you don’t want to do.”
“Well – I don’t think I’ll be coming back either.” He rubbed his belly distractedly.
“Are you seeing anyone now?
The change of topic surprised him. “No – I don’t think that will be possible.” Seeing her confusion, he changed tactics, “I mean, I need to figure things out. And I have responsibilities that I need to fulfill.”
“Good. Often people rush into things before resolving their issues. Have you forgiven Severus yet?
“No. Not sure I will anytime soon, but I need to move on. I will in time.”
“Do you still hate him?”
“Because he made you enjoy your own rapes?”
He whispered quietly, “No – because he left me.”
“Harry, drink this.” Snape had said as he had swept Harry into his arms. Harry knew it was to be their last time together.
“What is it?”
“It is the key to destroying him.”
Harry drank it and then Snape kissed him while the potion was still in his mouth. Harry melted into it.
“We don’t have much time, Harry. I expect he’ll learn what I’ve done in the very near future.”
“I’ve missed you. I didn’t mean…”
Severus looked into Harry’s eyes and Harry dropped the flimsy shields he’d developed over the last few months. He let Severus see what he felt for him.
“Shhh…I know. I’ve felt it. I’ve felt the way you missed me.” Harry looked confused but Severus glanced at where the dildo was. “I could feel you whenever you used it. I’m pleased you found it helpful.
Harry understood. When he had used it, it felt like Snape because Snape could feel him. He suddenly felt amazed. “I love you, Severus. I’m so glad you know that. I was so worried…”
“It’s Stockholm Syndrome,” Severus interrupted.
“What? No it’s not!”
“You believe you love me because I’m the only person you’ve seen during your captivity that has related to you as a person. I’m certainly not worthy of your regard.” It sounded so clinical. It infuriated Harry to have his feelings dismissed.
“Bullshit! I do love you…you…”
“Shhh – Harry. We don’t have time. But believe me when I say I know you think you love me. I, too, care very much for you.” Harry saw fear in Severus’ eyes. “Please let’s not argue. I need you now. We don’t have much time and – there won’t be….”
“Anything left afterwards. After he’s dead…I’m sorry – so sorry Harry, but in order to do this, I need to make love to you now. The final Horcrux was destroyed – except for…” Severus had started kissing him.
Harry’s mind reeled. This would be the night he would die, “Except for me,” he stated out loud. It became more real now that it was out there.
“Voldemort will come and move you. We won’t have this chance again. You must kill him.” He laid Harry down on the bed and kissed him furiously. “There’s a wand beneath your pillow.”
“I’m afraid,” Harry admitted.
Severus kissed Harry hard before coming up for air. He stripped his own clothes off swiftly. “Turn over.” Harry complied. He felt a small cool bottle at his entrance and Severus pour lubricant into him.
Severus slipped in quickly and fell over Harry’s back. “This is very important. Let Voldemort take you while this potion is inside of you. Let him come inside you. This potion will give you the power you need to defeat him but he needs to come inside you.” Severus kissed a trail of soft nips along Harry’s neck. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry you have to do this.” Severus began thrusting into Harry. Harry closed his eyes and cried. Severus whispered into his ear, “Harry Potter, I love you. Remember that. I do love you.”
When Severus came – Harry had thought his insides had been scorched. He let loose his own orgasm and shook for several minutes afterwards as tremors of power ripped through him. In those moments he felt whole and complete. A total sense of being loved. And then it passed. ‘What the fuck was that?’ he wondered. His body thrummed as if he had too much caffeine. Just then, he heard a loud commotion outside and furious yelling. He looked around and couldn’t see Severus. He’d never felt the man remove himself from Harry’s body. Never heard him leave the room but he sure heard the thunder of fury approaching. There was a major battle going on outside the room and Harry was stuck. He was terrified for his lover. Harry was ready to sacrifice himself, but ne needed to know that Severus would survive him.
“SEVERUS!” he yelled as he heard the distinctive voice of his lover scream. A strong pulse of power burst though him. He blacked out.
He woke as Voldemort raced into the room, livid.
“I have killed your Severus. He dared tried to take what was mine!”
“What?“ Harry’s mind was reeling. Severus had just left. Had he just killed him?
“Turn over slut! I want to see your face as you spread your legs for the Wizard that killed your lover.”
Harry shook in fear and disbelief. He looked around the room.
Voldemort smacked his face and threw him onto his back.
“Spread them! Now!”
After months of doing as he was told, his legs parted before his brain could catch up. Voldemort wasted no time in thrusting into Harry in one push. Voldemort yanked Harry’s hair, which had grown quite long in the months prior and pulled his head back.
“Tell me you're mine. Tell me to fuck you.” Voldemort was crazed and Harry almost grabbed the wand then until the echo of Severus’ voice rang in his head. “Let him come inside you.”
As difficult as it was, he trusted Severus and so he complied. “Yes…My Lord – fuck me, please.” It was hard to be convincing so Harry closed his eyes and pretended it was Severus inside him again. Voldemort was on edge. “Say it again…” he hissed.
“Please my Lord – fuck me.”
Just as Harry saw the telltale sign of Voldemort ejaculating, he reached under his pillow.
The power had thrummed through Harry for days until Poppy had identified it. Severus’ magical signature ran throughout Harry’s body. Severus had sacrificed his own magic, donating it into Harry making him into a Squib. Harry realized that even had Severus managed to walk into the hall, he had been defenseless against other wizards. The man had sacrificed himself for Harry.
He had left a note indicating the one potion he had used was attuned to the magicks of Severus and Harry and would reject anything else that was not of them. Essentially, it had bonded Severus and Harry together. When Voldemort ejaculated, Harry’s body rejected it, as if it were an infection, thereby killing the Horcrux within Harry. The power required to kill both the Horcrux and Voldemort himself though was immense and Harry would have died if he had not had the additional magic Severus had given him.
The other potion had served a very different purpose. Snape had written, “Forgive me my selfishness. ‘It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.’”1 Harry had wept at both the loss and the gain.
“Seems you’re pregnant, Mr. Potter,” Poppy had said, somewhat pityingly. “I think I can safely say it belongs to Severus Snape.” Harry knew that, holding the crumpled note in his fist. Hermione and Ron sat with him and heard the intake of breath from Ron. Harry was unsure if Hermione had told Ron yet about how Snape had saved him. Harry had told her a little that first night back– or rather she guessed and he’d nodded at her.
“What would you like to do?” the medi-witch asked. Harry stared at her unsure of what she was asking. “There are options, Mr. Potter if you do not wish to carry the baby to term,” Pomfrey whispered.
“Oh…oh – um, can I think about it?” Harry asked. It was too much. Eight months of rape and torture, falling in love with one of his captors who became his savior- and then losing him while killing his enemy was hard enough. Now learning he would bear the child of lover he’d lost before he was twenty was a bit much to digest.
Hermione took the note from him and held his hand. “Harry, we’ll get through this.” She smiled at him.
Ron stood beside her and nodded. “Whatever you need, mate,” he added, but shuffled his feet a bit as if unsure of where to look. Harry wondered how he would tell Ron the truth about his feelings about Severus.
Hermione glanced down at the note in her other hand. “Tale of Two Cities, how appropriate,” she said softly. She patted his hand.
“What?” Harry asked.
“That’s where this quote is from.”
“Oh…I didn’t know.”
“Would you like to read it?” she asked.
Harry nodded. He felt so empty and had no idea what he needed but maybe it was a start.
Seven months. Harry was rather large now. The nursery was finished. He wasn’t quite sure when he had made the decision to keep the baby but he was glad he decided to face his nightmares. He needed to be ready to be a father – a proper father. Not one haunted by his past. Not that he never had nightmares but he was mostly able to cope now.
It would be a girl. Poppy had informed him at his last check up. He now had to stay away from Muggle areas and hadn’t seen his doctor in some time. Maybe after the birth, he’d go back. She wasn’t a great doctor, but she had actually seemed to help him. He was over the worst of it but knew there would be times when he would face challenges.
He needed to focus on his daughter and getting through the next day. He was now looking forward to the future. Ron and Hermione were such frequent visitors he thought about asking them to move in. He was pretty sure they’d agree to it. With Ron in Auror training and Hermione going to Uni, they couldn’t really afford their own place and the Burrow was crowded for a young couple. He hesitated only because he was unsure how comfortable Ron would be. Hermione seemed to have resolved the fact they had all had sex and had chosen Ron, not out of any flaw on Harry’s part but because that’s who she’d always loved. Harry couldn’t be embarrassed anymore about sex – and he suspected that even though Severus was gone, the bond wouldn’t allow him to be with anyone else. At least not until the baby was born. He wasn’t exactly sure how bonds worked, but Hermione said it wasn’t surprising he felt empty. The death of a bondmate often did that but he didn’t feel as empty as before. Could you recover from the death of someone you were bonded too? He needed to do some research into that.
First, he would finish Pride and Prejudice. Reading the books Severus had mentioned made him feel connected somehow to the father of his child. Sometimes he held a literary discussion about the book to an imaginary Severus over tea in the kitchen. Having Ron and Hermione at the house would end that but he figured it was time to move on. It’s not like Severus would come back from the dead to discuss the merits of Darcy versus Wickham.
He thought back to the first novel he read and remembered wishing back then he could have discussed with Severus why Carton decided to give his life so that Charles Darnay could escape. He rubbed his swollen belly and thought for the first time that he understood.
Several months later, Amelia Carruthers waited for her next patient as she read the last note Harry Potter had sent to her. He had sent several photos of the house he had rebuilt and it was quite lovely. In one of the photos he was holding a small infant which piqued her curiosity. He said he was still single but doing well. He indicated he was living with his two best friends who were married so perhaps the child was theirs? The infant had black hair and dark eyes, however, unlike the couple in question who were also in the photo. Perhaps it was a niece? She hoped Harry would return. She had a sneaking suspicion he still needed to resolve a few things including…
“Dr. Carruthers? Am I early?” The deep voice asked. He walked into the room, balanced on a cane he now permanently used since the incident.
From past sessions, she knew the man had believed he should have died in the explosion that caused that injury. He was having issues accepting that he survived from “some bloody Gryffindor miracle.” She was unsure of that term, but the way he had described the events sounded like magic. One moment, Tom Riddle shot him at close range and the force had knocked Severus across the room and he’d been left for dead. The next thing he remembered was a bright flash of white and then blacking out. He woke amidst the rubble after the explosion and crawled away. The police had obviously decided he was killed in the explosion and he had chosen to remain ‘dead’ instead of facing what happened. He had cut himself off from all his former acquaintances, even his friends, which she assumed was a form of self-punishment. She wondered how he made a living now. He, like all her customers, paid cash and she didn’t ask her clients those type of questions.
What her client needed was to learn how to deal with the acts he’d done in the line of duty and return to the world. She wasn’t sure how to proceed. He was more taciturn than Harry was and far more reluctant to accept forgiveness. She was amazed that he had sought her assistance at all.
“No, no, just reading some correspondence from another client.” She very deliberately sat the photo down where he could see it. She noted the dark eyes squinting at it closely and heard a small gasp. It was the first unexpected expression of emotion she had seen from him.
“So Mr. Prince, have you forgiven yourself yet?” She had been positive this was the same man Harry Potter had discussed and his reaction confirmed it.
“For participating in the serial rape of a teenager?” The man snorted. “I doubt anyone else would, why should I?”
“You saved him. You did what you needed to do.”
“I didn’t do enough,” he argued. The man always argued. In the few months he’d been seeing her, he felt the need to argue over everything. He blamed himself. He hated himself for what happened to Harry – although Severus referred to him as Evan.
“You gave him comfort when he needed it most. You treated him with care when others only abused him.”
“I abused him!” Severus yelled. “As sick as I felt about doing it, I felt pleasure. I should not have been able to do that.”
“He was an attractive young man, was he not?” She asked, pushing. She sensed a breakthrough coming as she saw his eyes dart over to the photo time and again.
“I thought he was too skinny. Too…impertinent. Too fragile…” The man hesitated and then with a shaky edge to his voice, he admitted, “I wanted him. Not at first. At first, I was sure he would break. He would fail and I would need to save him as I always…” he stopped. She wondered what he was about to say. She’d had a suspicion they had known each other prior to these events but neither man had ever admitted it. He turned away and looked out the window. “…but he turned out to be far stronger and far more brave than I ever could have been.” His voice hitched.
“You loved him.”
She no longer had a valid license for practicing medicine as penance for a rather unorthodox relationship with one of her own clients, but she still felt the need to help people even if the establishment didn’t agree with her. She was thrilled there were people like Poppy Pomfrey in the world that understood that sometimes you can’t help who you love or that people, like Severus or Harry, who were unable to go to traditional medical professionals for any number of reasons, could find her.
She finally understood what needed to be done. Harry thought Severus was dead. Severus wanted him to because he felt he didn’t deserve Harry.
Severus Prince blinked but didn’t say anything. He just looked over at the photo once again and she noted the flush in his face confirming her assessment and a small tear in his eye. She knew at some point, Severus Snape had fallen in love with Harry Potter. Just as she knew Harry Potter was still in love with this man. They would have a long way to go to resolve their past but she smiled to herself. She would need to see Harry Potter again.
1 Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
Trichotillomania is a mental disorder where people pull their hair out: head, eyebrows, eyelashes, etc... it's an impulse control disorder caused by stress/trauma.