Title: Initiation
Main Characters: Severus, Harry
Pairing: None
Rating: M
SUMMARY: Instead of rushing in to help, Severus lets Harry see first hand what he's up against. He survived it, Harry will too. Dark, longer than usual drabble.
WARNING: NON-CON
NOTE: Severus Snape is my favorite character in HP fandom, and I specialize in dark drama. Please turn back if this bothers you. I go where the pain is and I use compelling characters to do it. I don't look at them as "evil" or "good". They're just explorations in experiences, that do no real harm to anyone. It's a fun haunted house ride to me, but has been known to be totally traumatizing to people who rush ahead without reading the warnings. Protect your emotions and turn back.
You must help him.
Keep walking, Severus commanded himself.
The boy's cries are merely panic. They are not hurting him. Not seriously. Potter must learn for himself, the price of such ubiquitous fame.
But they have him on the floor now. Hurry!
They could have had him on the floor a long time ago. Potter has been lucky up till now.
Severus dimmed the light of his wand and slowed. He knew the noises coming from the Slytherin bathroom all too well, muffled yet uncontainable.
He knew the jeers pouring from the rampage of a dozen adolescent boys or more. Knew the shadows leaping across the light under the door. And knew that he had to let them have their game.
He needs help. He isn't accustomed to this kind of treatment.
Neither was I. If he's going to act like the darling of Hogwarts, then he needs to see what celebrity is all about. Whether they love you, or hate you, they'll try to take what they can. Better he learn it now than later.
The door rattled under thudding impact. Severus stared at it.
You can't let this happen. You are not that much of an evil bastard!
Watch me. They always do it in the dead of night, he mused. The more antagonistic of the students, the ones who resent being upstaged by brilliance, by circumstance, and by favoritism. The ones who can't tolerate their own mediocrity, yet who are clueless as to what to do about it. Those are the ones who hold you down, who watch, as the boldest of them straddle you.
No, Harry doesn't help their cause at all. And the fact that he chooses to withhold all of his dark-haired, pale strangeness to himself, has iced over whatever sympathy the other students once had for him.
Severus would let this happen. He was doing the boy a favor, in the long run. He only wondered what it was they had told Harry, to lure him out of bed.
Perhaps they appealed to his deplorable sense of heroism. They must've lied about needing the help that only a legendary fifth-year, defeater of Voldemort could provide. Or they told him that they saw Ginny Weasley dangling from a moving staircase by her ankle, or some such catastrophe.
He's screaming. There are tears in those screams. Did you cry like that?
Shush. It's the pain of humiliation. Not physical at all. It must be done.
Severus had tried to warn Albus, after all. He'd tried to tell the head master that it was only a matter of time before his boys acted upon the ire Potter inspired in them. The elite boy wonder. It was only natural that they would want to open him up and see what was inside.
Severus remembered the lie his own peers had tricked him with. He'd had his doubts, waking up to the two Gryfindors he despised the most, that insufferable night. But James and Lupin were as white as sheets, and begging him for once. Exquisitely begging.
Of course, it had been the sight of Remus' blue, unconscious body on the tiles that got him to take pity on the idiots. Mixing hallucinogenic concoctions because they had nothing better to do, had proven near fatal, or so Severus thought. No sooner was he by Remus' side, his potion kit open, that the trickster opened his eyes. Surprise surprise.
So quick to help. It was the last time he made that mistake.
Severus put his ear to the door and listened.
Yes, Potter, there are distinct drawbacks to being special. One is that it makes others perversely curious about you, even indignant of what it is they feel you owe them.
Two, it inspires them to come after you. They salivate for your shame like a pack of mangy dogs, sniffing out your secrets. Your father was one of them, and now you are one of their victims. You won't fight your way out of this.
On the other side of the door, Harry's shouts stop, abruptly. Those of his classmates climb higher, triumphant.
Severus raised an eyebrow. They had done it, then.
Yes. They forced it from him.
He only wished he could see Harry's face, could see his anger under a film of sweat. Could see the shame inflamed on his cheeks, and perhaps inside his open collar, as he lay pinned, and spilling helplessly into his classmates' hands.
You're an unforgivable bastard.
Perhaps, but it's not as bad as it seems. Potter is not the only one to endure this little initiation. If he gets past this, he stands a chance. He could be strong. This is just a sample, a small juvenile taste of the opposition facing him. He must be strong. These boys will teach him.
Listen. Their laughter is cruel.
You can take it, Potter. You won't know how they did it. You won't know why you couldn't fight hard enough to stop them. You'll only know that they saw the moment no one should ever see. A moment that shut you down, and opened your private self, for all of them to see. Maybe it only lasted a few seconds, but those few seconds are on record forever, in their minds.
He's in pain. Go to him.
Well that's what forced orgasm feels like, doesn't it? All that straining against the rise and flood, in front of greedy eyes. It's an initiation, Potter. Your classmates hold you down and they masturbate you. We all get over it.
You didn't. He's given them what they wanted. Proof that he isn't better than they are. He's learned. Go to him.
Severus made himself breathe deeply for another ten seconds before disbanding the bathroom horseplay.
