Disclaimer: When I am a blonde, middle-aged, goddess of ingenuity and fictional characters worth more than a few million with a following of well over 6 billion strong, you all will be the first to know. Promise.
Warning: Sexual scenes and mentions of violence. Seems like a Dark!Fic.
Authours Note: And the First-Person-Narrative Plot-Bunny strikes again. Joy. I wonder when it will let go of my leg and allow me to go back to typing my other fics? That's a thought to ponder, inninit.
Title: Forgiven
It is black. The blackness surrounds and buffets me, crying out that I am not worth it. I am not useful. I am not whole.
There are shards. They are the shards of my soul, the shards that pierce my hands and let my blood drain to the floor. My blood, tainted with the treachery of my past, coated with the names of my victims. My victims; innocent of wrong, free of taint, undeserving of their fate.
The remains scream. They scream for me to stop, to stay my hand. But I never do. I never can. I wield my weapon with precision, and watch with cold eyes even as my heart breaks and shatters and dies.
I sit here in the darkness and contemplate my life with the fragments of my sanity that have not succumbed to my sins. I sit here- silent, still- and I remember. I forget. My heart shatters again.
My hands stain the table with their paleness. I stare at them, palms up, fingers curled, like two hands of a corpse. They commit crimes, they extinguish lives, they are part of me. They do what I tell them. I am no better than a common criminal, hiding from justice behind a thin screen of 'duty' and 'sacrifice' and 'nobility'. I do what I am told; no more. No less.
Have they realized- do they know?- what I have done? Will they care? Will they pat me on the back and offer chocolate and condolences, and tell me 'it is for the greater good?' Will they tell me 'it could not be helped?' Will I go back to teaching ungrateful brats like I have done no wrong?
Lies. All lies. Everything I say is a lie. My life is a lie- I live a lie. I speak and breath and eat and die for lies. I have lied, I will lie, I am a lie.
But the deceitful gods who have given me this life are loath to take it away. I still live. I still breathe. My hands still commit their crimes, and my soul still dies.
There is the creak as the door opens. I cannot be myself this night- I glance up slowly to see who it is. Harry Potter stands at my door, bag over his shoulder, and I die a little more inside. Another lie. I turn away.
"Professor Snape?" his voice is hesitant. He pauses; I know his face is curious. The door creaks more as he shuts it, coming into the room and moving slowly to my desk.
I stare at my hands, he drops his bag. Comes closer. "Severus."
My hands are picked up; I watch distractedly. His warm, golden hands hold mine gently, softly, and his thumbs trace circles over my skin. My hands are pale, lifeless and still, and they burn in his warm grasp. I yank them away. He should not be tainted by my touch.
But he follows me, and I cannot stop his hands from reaching out and capturing mine again. He continues his massage, releasing the tension in my muscles and bringing my sanity back from its grave one piece at a time.
It is a long time before he stops, and I look down at him as he kneels next to my chair. I want to yell, I want to scream, I want to sob but I cannot for he is here. He is always here. I do not know why; I do not know how, but in the times like this he always comes to me.
He has detention. He forgot something in the classroom. He needs to talk to one of the Slytherin's. He needs to speak to the Headmaster. But he is always here, and I find I am grateful. There is no sound as he reaches up from his position on the floor and cups my cheek, no sound as he lets me press against his hand.
He is pure, good, whole, and he touches me. I will taint him but he doesn't move away though he knows the fact as well as I do. I speak- he has undone my barriers with his unstained hand and I could never hold out against his eyes.
"They did nothing. Had done nothing. They were innocent of what they had been accused of and they were slaughtered. By me. Because he told me to do it. And I did. I did, Harry. Oh, gods. The blood was everywhere and they never fought back. They never- oh gods."
My voice cracks, I can feel it all over again, hear it again, see it again. See their wide eyes staring at me, pleading with me for mercy, begging me to spare their children. No- the darkness comes back and I am los-
-saved. Harry's hands are wiping the tears off of my face gently and I didn't even realize they had come. His eyes are full of an emotion I do not want to identify because if it is pity I will die. They stare at me, those emerald orbs, and I desperately try to loose myself in them for the darkness cannot find me where it does not exist.
Harry stares back at me as I search his gaze. He stands slowly, and I think to myself it is because he does not wish to scare me. But he needn't have worried- I will never be afraid of him. He is mine, more than anyone else's, Saviour.
My eyes slide shut as he bends over me, his lips brushing mine with the barest of traces. It is enough to make me moan, for in this moment he is more than a student, more than a boy, more than who he is presumed to be. He is my hope that I can go on, my light in the unending night that is ever-present, and my forgiveness.
His lips touch mine again as his hand cradles my face. He deepens the contact and I groan as his tongue sweeps my lips. He is patient, waiting for me to open my lips rather than force me. He would never force me, knowing what I am forced to do. My lips open.
There is a pain in this kiss but more than that there is forgiveness. He is forgiving me for my actions, forgiving me even as he explores the cavern of my mouth and creates pleasure inside of me. Distantly I think that I am wrong about him in the real-world where things such as pride and attitude and bearing matter but here and now he is nothing more than Harry, my lover.
My body is reacting to him, and even as I notice the state of things with a detached eye I feel my sanity shiver in its cast. How can I think of this when I have done such a thing? But the thought goes no further as Harry moves to straddle my lap, pressing his smaller body against mine.
His hands are wrapped around my neck, now, and I cannot help but feel that I do not deserve this. He forgives me, though I treat him like garbage. He touches me, though I am stained with innocent blood. He loves me, though I am unable to return it. And he gives himself to me time after time on nights like this when the moon is eternal and the sun a passing fancy and I cannot keep myself from taking his offer of salvation.
He is moving now, body pressed against me harder than before, and rocking slowly. I let myself become aroused, knowing that he wants it, and willing to give it to him. I would give him anything, should he ask for it. He rides my body eagerly even as I move beneath him.
He stops and moves off, taking my hand between his own and pulling me up after him. He leaves his bag in the classroom as we go through my office and into my chambers, and he stops in the bedroom, turning to me. My body rejoices as he follows the ritual, and as he comes near I unclasp my robes from my shoulders. They fall to the floor, forgotten, as Harry takes care of the rest.
Shoes, shirt, trousers, and tunic all come off as I stand there, and he is still fully clothed. He reaches out for my hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the back of it. He does the same with the other and I shiver. I am caught in his gaze, caught knowing that he knows what I did and will still join me in this; caught, and freed.
He presses his lips to mine again as he starts to kiss all over my body. No spot is left bare of his touch, no area free of his balm. He frees me from the sins of the night I have lived through and banishes them from my soul, leaving me spotless as I face him.
But no. There are still patches of night drifting in my soul and he catches them in himself as he lays me on the bed. His clothes disappear. I stare up at him. He stares down at me. I close my eyes.
Harry kneels between my legs and I shiver as he studies me. There is a tension in the air that excites me, makes it impossible to breathe. He touches the inside of my thigh as gently as he would touch an exquisite china doll and I suck my breath in.
He rises onto his knees and spreads my legs, whispering the spell that would ready me for him. I am tense, so tense, and as the smooth, hot tip of his organ touches me I feel it all. He slides in easily, and I gasp as I am impaled on his member. He pulls out and so does my breath, and with a forceful thrust he drives home.
His thrusts grow in intensity, and I can feel my body be purified, I can feel the ever-present night fading and dying as he fills me up and forces it out of me. We are rising, flying, racing for the end and dying as we leave the cliff. His seed inundates me and I am free. There is nothing in my body other than him, no substance other than what he has provided.
As we rest and he pulls me into his arms I can close my eyes. I can see sights other than before, for now he fills my vision and my mind and my soul. He has gathered all my pieces and welded them back together making me work again and he asks nothing for it.
He never does.
And this is one of the reasons I am currently so sleep deprived I fell asleep on the train and missed my stop. Yeah. Please tell me what you thought.