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Harry fell out of the Pensieve and landed hard on the stone floor, immediately scrambling to his feet. He felt sick, but pushed the feeling down – there wasn't much time before Snape would return. With the Inquisitorial Squads patrolling the halls, Ron and Hermione's diversion would last a shorter time than usual. 

Snape's quarters were still empty. He was safe. Snape would never know–

"Mr Potter."

Harry froze and then slowly looked around. 

Snape stood beside the Pensieve, arms crossed, dark anger lighting his face. "Do you remember what I promised you I would do if I ever found you looking at my memories again?"

"My mum!" Harry blurted. "You–" 

Snape went still. The candles in the room flickered. Inexplicably, Harry felt cold, and he shivered. 

"You raped her," he whispered. "She said she was pregnant by you."

"There was no rape."

"She wouldn't have–"

Snape smiled. Harry shivered again; Snape's eyes frightened him. He wanted to look away, but couldn't.

"She did. And she bore our child."

A brother. Or a sister. A family he hadn't known. Longing flickered through his disgust and fear, even if it meant that person shared Snape's blood as well as his. 

Snape's smile widened, his crooked yellow teeth shining cruel and sharp. His eyes narrowed as a satisfied look lit his face, his expression gloating and vindictive. "You're pathetically easy to read. You've reached the wrong conclusion."

"What conclusion?" Harry inched towards the door. 

A gesture of Snape's wand, and he heard the click of a bolt sliding home. 

"You have no siblings. Living or…otherwise."

That didn't make sense. If his mother had a child, but he had no brother or sister, that meant – Harry's eyes widened in shock.

"No! That's not true. I look like him!" Like James Potter. Like his father. He backed away. 

Snape stalked after him. "Your mother was an incredibly powerful and skilled witch, particularly when it came to charms." 

"You're lying! James Potter is my father!" Backed against the table holding the Pensieve, Harry stopped. 

Snape loomed over him, his face twisted into a sneer. "Do you really think so?"

Something broke inside. Harry pushed Snape, heart pounding in fear as the truth settled hard and cold in his stomach. "You bastard!"

"That would be you, boy." Snape sounded amused; another flick of his wand and he'd pinned Harry's arms to his sides. "My bastard." He circled behind, placed his mouth to Harry's ear and whispered. "Mine. Do you understand?"

His breath smelled like rotting meat. Harry choked and turned his head away. "No."

"Yes," Snape whispered, foetid breath cool on Harry's neck. "My blood flows in you." Lips pressed against his throat; a tongue rasped his skin.

Harry couldn't move. The tongue swept over his throat again. He felt gooseflesh break out. "Stop," he tried to say, but a moan escaped instead. He was horrified to find himself arching his neck to allow the tongue greater access.

What was happening to him?

The gooseflesh spread as Snape began to loosen Harry's clothing and stroke his bare skin. Binding spell released, Harry snatched at the hands, intending to break free. But instead of pushing them away, he pulled them closer, began to guide them to his chest, his nipples, his stomach.

A sharp pain at his neck made him cry out, a cry that ended on a sob when he felt Snape's hand curl around his cock and begin to pull, a rough twist of the wrist that was more pain than pleasure and utterly addictive.

"More," he gasped.

Snape obliged. Sucking powerfully at Harry's neck, he thrust his leg between Harry's thighs. Harry pushed back, rubbing his arse desperately against Snape's leg, humping air and Snape's cold hand. He snaked a hand backwards, feeling blindly until he could grasp Snape's arse and pull him closer, pressing Snape's head tight to his neck with his other hand. He felt dizzy, as if his whole body consisted only of his cock and his neck, his entire identity reduced to simple pain and pleasure and a desperate need to come.

"Ah, ah, I'm com—" he gasped and jerked wildly, semen shooting in pearled spurts over Snape's hand to drip on the stone floor of the dungeons.

Harry's knees buckled and the sweet pain at his neck disappeared. He moaned with the loss and felt himself lifted and placed on a soft, flat surface that must have been Snape's bed, his legs spread wantonly in a manner he vaguely realised should embarrass him but didn't, fingers slick with come pressing once, twice, countless times into his arsehole until he was hard and writhing again. Hands dragged him by the hips; he found himself beneath Snape, legs wrapped around Snape's waist, stripped of all his clothing, helpless, arsehole twitching like a kiss until a brutal thrust made him keen with lust and need. 

Harry's pain flared.

Once more, he felt Snape's mouth close on his neck. Snape pounded into him, battering something inside Harry that hurt and burned and made his body sing. He clutched at Snape desperately, using him as an anchor because if he didn't, if he let go, he'd explode into a million pieces.

He heard himself grunting in time with Snape's thrusts. He thrust back, impaled himself over and over on Snape's hard cock because that was the only reality left in his world, as if the rest of his life would consist of Snape riding him mercilessly while Harry begged for release, eternally hungry.

Snape's cock sunk deeper. 

Harry exploded helplessly, his cock untouched. He heard Snape's cries and felt warmth flood his arse. Harry's arsehole made wet, sucking sounds as Snape pushed into him again and again, thrusting through his release.

Trembling, they collapsed together, coming to rest in a messy sprawl of limbs and body fluids. Snape pulled him close. Mouth again pressed to Harry's ear, Snape repeated, "Mine."

Lost. He was lost. Before he slipped into unconsciousness, Harry surrendered.