Disclaimer: Not mine *sniffles* all belong to the beautiful, talented, creative, intelligent, and truly blessed original author (is that enough compliments to avoid a law suit?), I just like to play with them and occasionally abuse them but they get their own back! ^_^
AN: Takes place in an AU world, Harry is in seventh year but Dumbledore isn't dead, sixth year passed with a normal attempt on his life by Voldemort, kidnapped, had his ear talked off, escaped – you know the drill. Voldemort doesn't have Horcruxes in this world.
Oh, I may have shamelessly taken a scene from a different fic (even worse I can't remember which one or if I even did, most of this fic came from a random daydream lol) and changed it my way to build a different story off. I'm really sorry and if it came from you, please let me know so I can at least acknowledge you ^_^ They do say that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery :-D
Warnings: Scenes of a sexual nature (just a tad graphic), death (no one we care about) and torture.
Please note: this is a slash fanfic. Slash as in two boys, two boys enjoying each others bodies, sexually. As in, they are gay and are having GAY SEX! Well, not quite full sex, the bunny didn't jump that way but still... Enjoy! I know I did! XD
Best Served Cold by Duana
Chapter One
His breath game in shallow gasps, it was all he was capable of, petrified as he was.
Petrified, in the dark, on his knees.
Pain exploded in his side as another blow landed on his side, he felt his cracked ribs break fully and the shallow breaths he had previously been able to manage became difficult, sparking new waves of agony with each one.
His mind was blank to all but the pain and the names he heard being whispered. He had recognised a few of the voices, they matched the names he heard but that felt like a long time ago now.
Probably was.
He didn't know how long he had been bound helpless, how long they had been beating and cursing him, how much longer he could actually survive this torture.
He knew it was very long though. He had been tortured and beaten enough times through his life to know how bad any damage was and how much he could stand. He had already passed the point he would normally have blacked out by.
He thought it was pissing them off that he was still conscious. Good. If that was all the retaliation he could manage, he would stay conscious until the very last moment. Not long now.
His vision was dancing grey and silver at the edges, even in the dark he could tell.
He chuckled lowly in his throat and heard their snarls of annoyance and outrage. He thought they wanted to see him weep and despair.
He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
His muscles rapidly contracted and released as he felt the all too familiar sensation of the Cruciatus wash over him. He wasn't sure he could feel it properly any more, another sign that he didn't have much longer left. Or perhaps his body was just becoming immune to it. That would be nice. If he lived. He doubted he would though.
It didn't matter, his life was nothing but pain really. Even his great power caused nothing but pain. Those he loved either died for him, leaving him alone with nothing but guilt, or betrayed him, before they came sauntering back as though they had done nothing wrong and he was out of order by being upset with them and not instantly forgiving them.
Strange, if they had done nothing wrong, why did they need forgiveness?
But forgive them he would, because after all, you forgive the ones you love and love was his great power.
If love was so great, why did it hurt so much?
Apparently he didn't react enough, despite how little he was actually able to, so they changed tactics again and more blows rained across his body.
For a brain that had been in a nearly catatonic state only moments before, it was suddenly in overdrive, as though it realised on a subconscious level that it had only a few minutes of activity left before it stopped for good. Perhaps it did.
He could recognise who delivered most of the blows, it didn't matter that he couldn't see them. The light, almost ineffective ones were Pansy Parkinson. The heave ones that made him feel like his bone were shaking were Crabbe and Goyle. The fast jabs were Theodore Nott. The bitch slaps were Blaise Zabini. Tracey Davis was wearing metal tipped stiletto heels, which made both her foot steps and kicks quite distinctive. Daphne Greengrass seemed content to simply curse him on her turn, most often with a move powerful version of the stinging hex. Millicent Bulstrode was distinguished by the meaty fist that was attracted to his face.
He thought there were a few of the younger Slytherins too, but he got the impression that they didn't want to be there. They were only referred to as 'Oi. You!' and their spells were basically harmless, their punches or kicks tentative.
If on a slim chance he survive, he wouldn't hold this against them. They were only kids, kids scared by their older and fearsome Death Eater dorm mates.
The only real surprise about the group was that Draco Malfoy wasn't with them.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, the thought washed sardonically through his mind as he heard the very boy he had just thought of walk through the door.
He smiled internally as he waited for the curse Malfoy would send. It seemed more fitting to die by the hand of his rival. He had been fighting with Malfoy since the first day of school. It made a nice circle that he should die by the enemy he had made on the first day he had truly felt alive.
It was better than going by the hand of someone as ignominious as Parkinson or Crabbe.
Malfoy seemed set and determined to keep surprising him though. Instead of happily joining in with the game of torture Potter, he started cursing the people in the room, verbally and magically.
Barely visible streaks of light shot through the room along with promises of Voldemort's retribution should he die. His hearing was starting to fail and he almost wanted to apologise to Malfoy. He wasn't going to live long enough to spare him Voldemort's wrath and Voldemort would hold Malfoy just as accountable as the others.
He could hear well enough though to hear many feet race from the room and Malfoy order what he assumed was one of the younger students to fetch Snape.
The spell holding him immobile was released and he groaned as he hit the floor, his cracked ribs jarring with the impact and piercing a lung by the feel of it.
A sickly grin washed over his face and he blinked as light was returned to his vision. Draco Malfoy was hovering over him nervously and wringing his wand.
"Sorry... Malfoy... Too late." Harry coughed and watched blood fly from his mouth, "Not... the youn... younger... kids... fault..."
Harry trailed off as he struggled to draw enough breath to speak.
Snape raced into the room, dressed in only a shirt and trousers. Harry's lips twitched in an attempt at a smile. He had never seen the dour spy look so unpresentable. A look of horror crossed his face as he quickly started pulling potions from a bag he carried with him.
Harry's eyes flickered back to Malfoy and was shocked to see a tear leak down his cheek.
"Don'... be... sad..." Harry gasped, he was seconds from blacking out, it was a peaceful feeling, knowing that it was finally over for him, he tried to lift a broken hand to brush away the tear but failed and turned his eyes away to Snape, "Bye... Sev..."
Harry's last two words slurred together and he was unable to finish the name Severus Snape, but he thought the spy had understood. His body shut down a few seconds before his brain, he couldn't see any more, couldn't hear or feel or taste or smell, all that was left to him for those endless seconds was one emotion.
Relief.
He didn't hurt.
That was the first realisation to cross his mind as he suddenly woke. It was a strange one for him to have, it wasn't what he would usually think as he woke up, but then there weren't many occasions, if any, when he had woken up without pain. It was his constant companion. But not today for some reason.
Why?
Oh, he died! That's why he didn't hurt. You can't hurt if your dead, but then he hadn't expected to be able to think either.
And if he was dead, why did it feel like he was lying in bed?
And why did wherever he was smell like the Hospital Wing?
And why was he breathing?
He slowly opened the eyes he realised he had and looked around without moving. Severus Snape was sat in the chair next to his bed, his head was pillowed on his arms, which in turn were resting on the bed next to Harry's hip.
He looked terrible, Harry decided. His hair, normally lank and somewhat greasy but always impeccably groomed, was tangled and wild and his robes were creased.
He was going to look worse soon though. He appeared to have saved his life, he hadn't wanted to be saved. He was supposed to have been able to rest.
The wave of annoyance passed as quickly as it had washed over him. He shouldn't have expected any less really, Snape had been protecting his hide for years, even if this was the first time he had been required to save it.
His memory of what had happened to land him in the Hospital Wing, this time, slowly cleared.
His ambush as he left the library late, alone. Being dragged through the castle under the cover of a disillusionment spell. His subsequent torture. His knowledge of each attacker.
His new found clarity also came back. His realisation about the truth of his friends and how little they truly cared for him. Surely they wouldn't have betrayed, disbelieved and distrusted him as often as they had if they really cared.
Why would they even keep pretending to be his friends if they cared so little? Were they even his friends to begin with? Or was it all just a lie?
Why would they lie though? He couldn't see any reason they would... unless they had been told to... but who would tell them such a thing? Dumbledore? That was more than likely. Kind of suspicious in itself that a pure blood and a muggleborn would choose to be his best friends, both sides of the wizarding world but both guaranteed to guide him firmly on the path of the Light.
It would fit in nicely with Dumbledore's plans to make him into the perfect little weapon and tool in the fight against Voldemort. If everyone he had ever cared for was on the side of the Light, then Harry would stay there too. It also gave him a reason to fight, to protect those he cared for. It would explain that whole great power of love line too, he really doubted that was the prophesied unknown power though.
No, he couldn't believe such a thing about his friends, not without proof.
But what if it were true? Perhaps his best course of action would be to claim amnesia, that would leave him free to extract the revenge he so badly wanted to carry out on the Slytherins. He wanted to hear them scream and beg for an unachievable mercy, feel their blood run through his fingers, watch as they took their last breath.
His previous annoyance with Snape for saving him, his doubts about his friends and mentor, turned into a cold hatred for his attackers.
He felt a sudden kinship with Voldemort, he didn't want to hurt the innocent but he did want to watch the world burn, the world that had offered him nothing but pain for the last seventeen years.
He flexed the fingers of his hands, he remembered that they had both been broken. He remembered Theodore Nott cackling madly as he broke each finger.
His hands moved perfectly, as though they had never sustained even so much as a paper cut.
He blinked as he realised he wasn't wearing his glassed but he could see clearly, better even. He guessed Madam Pomfrey had finally fixed his vision, he had asked her too on a few occasions but had always been refused due to the length of time it took to heal afterwards.
He guessed that meant he had been here for at least six weeks. He stifled a groan as he realised just how much homework he would have to catch up on.
The movement of his hands seemed to have been enough to disturb Snape because his eyes slowly blinked open and he sat up, running a hand across his face.
His eyes open almost comically wide as he looked at Harry's open eyes.
"Mr Potter! How do you feel?" Snape asked with clear concern in his voice.
Harry opened his mouth to reply but nothing apart from a hoarse croak emerged. Snape fetched a glass of water and held a straw to his lips. He took a few small sips knowing that he would probably be sick if he drank any faster.
It wasn't enough to slack his sudden raging thirst but it was enough to allow him to clear his throat and speak.
"Good, Professor." his voice was still scratchy and didn't quite sound as he thought it should but it was understandable.
Snape nodded once before turning and walking beyond sight behind his partially drawn curtains.
Harry took the opportunity to attempt to sit up. He found it easier than he had expected and pushed his pillows up so he could lay propped up.
His head spun a little at his sudden movement but calmed quickly and wasn't accompanied by any nausea.
"Mr Potter! How many times must you be told to lie still?" Madam Pomfrey chided even as she smiled at him, "How are you feeling?"
"Good, thank you. Not pain or nausea, just slightly light headed." Harry replied in his new scratchy voice.
"That's fine. The light headedness is just due to you needed a real meal. You have been on potions for some time." the medi-witch replied absent mindedly as she cast diagnostic spells over him.
He must have passed he tests as she merely tutted over him for a moment, tucking his blanket around him before disappearing for a few moments.
She reappeared with a dinner tray for him, a thin broth and a small bowl of plain custard were on it. Harry grimaced slightly but picked up a spoon without complaint.
He spoke as she opened her mouth and cut her off before she could begin. "I know, slowly."
He offered her a grin before taking his first small mouthful. He had heard the same orders enough times in the past to be able to guess what she was going to say.
She shot him a look of affectionate exasperation before leaving again with the promise to return in a few minutes.
Snape walked back in as she left and resumed his previous seat, legs crossed at the knee and watched silently as Harry ate.
"What do you remember?" he asked when Harry had finally finished his meal.
"Not much." Harry shrugged as his Slytherin side kicked in, "I was... attacked? Umm, there's a thought that someone didn't want to be there? I- I'm not sure. Was it Death Eaters? Where was I?"
"Yes. They were, unfortunately, able to gain access to you here." Snape replied handily glossing over just who it was. Harry let it lie, he knew Snape would expect him to either want revenge or be terrified to walk around the school.
"Guess I won't need to feel guilty next time I find my self duelling Death Eaters then. Has the Headmaster fixed whatever hole it was in the wards? Can they get back in?" Harry asked adding just a slight touch of apprehension to his questions.
"The school is secure." Snape replied as he believe him hook, line and sinker.
He didn't suppose it was that unexpected though that he was believed so easily. No one would ever believe that Gryffindor's golden boy would be able to lie so easily. But then, they didn't know he had been lying about one thing or another since he first started school, mainly just covering up how bad his life with the Dursley's was.
He hadn't told anyone at first out of shame, but when the Headmaster had all but acknowledged that he knew about it but forced him to return anyway, Harry had realised it was pointless to try asking for help.
There was no one willing to save him.
He was seventeen now though, his mother's protection charm had broken on his birthday and there was no force on heaven or earth that could make him go back. His plans had been made years ago about what he would do once he finished school.
He had brought a house under a false ID that he had arranged through Gringott's after Sirius died and his dream of a loving home with him. Wonderful people, goblins. They would do anything for enough money and Harry had more than enough, even without the Black Estates. He had arranged his Last Will and Testament at the same time.
Yet, Draco Malfoy had stood up to all his peers to save his life, even if he hadn't done it for Harry but to protect himself. And Severus Snape risked his life on a regular basis, spying to help Harry with the war and protecting him, even if he didn't do it for Harry but for the memory of Harry's mother, Lily.
It was still more any others had done. Ron and Hermione had often accompanied him but the only time they had faced any real danger was in the department of mysteries in his fifth year, he had been forced to beg for that help and even then it had been given grudgingly, with them showing little to no trust in him.
Ginny had gone with them but only in an attempt to get closer to Harry and to join in with the excitement of her big brothers life that she was so envious of.
Luna and Neville were the only two that truly believed in him that night, that trusted him.
Perhaps he needed a change in best friends no matter what his spying on Hermione and Ron discovered.
Harry nodded sleepily at Snape, the exertion of eating a meal enough to tire him out after his long convalescence.
"How long was I out, sir?" he asked quietly as his eyes fell shut.
"Nine weeks. You spent much of it in a healing coma, the damage was severe." Harry's eyes blinked open again, he knew it had been a while but...
"Bloody hell. That's a record, even for me." his eyes shut once more and he drifted off, not seeing the look of sympathy that crossed his stern professors face.
tbc...
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