Warnings: pain as pleasure, violence, epic-poetry style
Summary: Severus hides his dark Veela nature, for he does not wish to subject his painful reality on the golden innocence of his mate, Harry.
A/N: Written for Do-Me-Veela 2012 Valentine's Fest. Beta'd by Sighing_Selkie and Miss_E. Thank you, ladies!
Trapped in Blackend Ways
This feeling, ever present, waxes and wanes
like the lunar cycles that pull the tides
and turn the wolves; sometimes strong,
sometimes weak, like hunger in a severely
starving man; an ache in my skeleton
not remedied by tisane nor tincture,
not alleviated by enchantment nor artifact,
for the very fiber of my being is cause indeed.
The nature of my affliction resides in my heritage
and nothing can change that. I have tried
cursing the skies for my father's allure,
which captured the beauty of the blackest
of princesses and tainted the royalty
forevermore. The lust in my soul for light
extends outward; trembles, as it will,
within my palm to catch the fleeting bird
made of fire and spirit, bravery in leaping
bounds, emerald gems, and sacrificial love.
But I cannot - cannot - touch and grab and
hold and cling and claim, for to do so would
taint again, ensnare another in my dark tomb.
The walls, I feel, crawl all around me; vellum
whispers of tantalising sins that should never be;
doxy eyes leer from nearby shelves like visions
from my nightmares; the musty dank of the dungeons
acts like acid inside my head, no longer sheltering,
no longer a comfort in its hideaway location.
All suffocates this passion, this urge to break free
and grab hold of what's mine and rip and tear
and claw, and for him to do likewise back to me;
but I dare not give in, so my world blocks any joy,
a penance for the inner darkness not yet made
fully manifest and, Merlin willing, never will.
Intellectual stimulation no longer eases the aches
away, as fight I must at each dark turning
of the day.
"Severus, you are a valuable servant
to me," hisses the Dark Lord at each
new gathering of his inner knights.
The faces around me are anticipatory,
waiting and watching with dark intent
for the display of pain and mutilation
that takes place within these halls.
He never disappoints in these matters.
"Crucio!" I fall to the floor writhing,
screaming out loud for their ears to see,
but inwardly my blood, it sings. It greets
the activation of my nerves with open
arms. The muscles contract in spasms
of ecstasy only marred by the knowledge
that he is not the one who has the right
to me. The others think I hate this
as they all do, but that is not the case.
I yearn for the strongest curse to run
along my spine, teasing my being with
the release of endorphins, satisfying
the itch which lies beneath my skin. But
it is not complete; my soul-call goes
unanswered, and I, alone.
He shows up in my vision, time and time again;
around a corner, across the Great Hall,
beside a stone banister, in potions class;
bursting with energy and arrogance aplenty,
he fuels my temper, grates like lightning
along the nerves, enrages lust to a fever pitch.
I am drawn to him as he is to my nature,
but the very act would endanger him and
send me to a hell of my own making. Cruelty
shields the flower from destruction, but its
brutality bruises the delicate blossom, though
he is made of sterner stuff than that - the lion's
toughness, softly furred but steel underneath.
Distance I choose to maintain, but with time
this becomes harder.
Screams echo and I know they come
from me. Agony flows through my being
as my body changes, morphs into a
beast, dark and eternal. I wish to die,
to end this suffering; yet I feel it is right,
if only a special one was here to balance
the dark with light, to share the pleasure
and the pain, to make it all glorious sin,
who would not detest, one who would not
despise nor loathe the darkness within.
The medi-witch asks the headmaster
what she should do; no answer need be
given; none can help until I find the one,
yet his smile gambles another solution,
a risk to take which might ease my life
in the meanwhile, a venture that leaves
me empty, burning with shame as I open
myself to him who but provides - albeit
he does not know it - relief for my own
pain-filled desires. Whips and crucios
work in conjunction to lessen the itch,
but devoid of devotion, they leave me
hollow inside, ever waiting in loneliness.
It grows ever worse, this mounting desire,
each time his presence invades my realm;
the derision, the snide remarks, the animosity
given and received incenses my consciousness;
and the tension flows through me, blood boiling
until all I view is crimson. From out of nowhere
I strike him across the face, and everyone freezes,
the shock reverberating around the room as his
eyes go wide. Time stands still, but soon the anger
grows between us, his fist connecting with my jaw,
and pleasure erupts in feathers at the first real
contact from my destined mate. I close my eyes -
the gasp and the scorn already beginning around me;
a scream or two resounding; stools knocking over;
his bookish best friend rattling off facts about the
nature of Dark Veela - at the horror, the rejection
which always shall be my fate. Yet surprise opens
them again as he pummels and kicks me to my
knees. I stare in wonder, pain searing along the
sides of my body while my spirit soars, terror
invading my heart as hope blooms before me,
the possibility of hurt, of agony, of intense sensation,
and - oh dear, sweet Merlin, help me - ultimate joy.
Yearning no longer hidden but clearly writ in obsidian,
meets comprehension in bright Kelly green.
The moment lies pregnant before fingers grip my hair
and pull back, as harsh lips descend upon mine, fierce,
determined, rough and biting and exquisite - so good -
the coppery taste invades my mouth, breaking the
barrier on my firm control, ending the exile and
solitude, and my reason screams as I rip and tear,
his clothes and mine, in the urge to reach luscious
skin. I jar away on a moaned "yes" as he grabs
and twists at exposed buds of pleasure and pain,
taking the lead and asserting dominance,
connecting straight to my cock and inflaming
all of my being. This is what it should feel like,
what my father must have felt when he made love
to my mother, the only reason she would have
to stay; that thought chills me as I look upon him,
to know I have trapped the golden light in bruises
and streaks of blood, a darkness all our days,
but for now there is only fulfillment, ecstasy
in blackened ways.