pairing: Severus/Harry
warnings: graphic violence, vague mentions of non con, underage, slash, slight OOC in Draco's case, most noticeably his speech at certain times
type: AU for a multitude of reasons
summary: Voldemort's war had torn the wizarding world into fractions. For the past five years most of the battles were fought by assassins as both parties realized that an all-out war would annihilate the very thing they were fighting for. Severus, a freelance assassin hired by Voldemort, tired of his job and life, met Isaiah in a pub, a strange young man, who was in fact an assassin from the Guild. He is intrigued by the young man and their easy conversation... that is until the topic turns to the hazards of their respective occupations, which they of course never disclosed.
a/n: I don't know how regularly I will be able to update this story. I have a good portion of it worked out in my head, but little time to put it on paper. I'll do my best to post at least once every two weeks if not more often. It's been a long time since I've written my last fanfic, so it might take a while until I get my mojo back
I
1. Just because we're assassins, we're not animals
"Twas the last one," the Malfoy heir confirmed with a sigh as another faceless stranger slumped to the ground in a blinding flash of green light.
Severus ran a tired hand over his face to hide his grimace of distaste. It was his fault his godson turned out this way. He studied the blonde adolescent for a moment before nodding mutely and walking out of the overturned living room. He stood outside the violated suburban home, waiting patiently for Draco to get rid of all the evidence.
Severus taught him his first Unforgivable. It was the one he excelled at now, his first Curse and the hardest of all to master – the Killing Curse. Its poison green glow seemed to emanate from the boy's aura now, somehow always lurking beneath the steel of his Malfoy eyes.
"All done," the seventeen-year-old all but beamed at his godfather. Severus was still amazed how Draco seemed to drop his stony mask around him and act like all was right in the world even though only moments earlier, an entire family had just perished before their wands.
Years of isolation twisted the boy. He was home-schooled instead of attending Hogwarts – his father, but more importantly, the current Dark Lord wanted him far away from Dumbledore's crafty manipulations; even walls had eyes and ears in that castle. And he wasn't even counting the portraits. So naturally, Draco had had little contact with other children over the years. Severus quit his teaching position under the old codger to educate the Malfoy heir, effectively ridding himself of his spy status – he couldn't complain. But when he was reflecting back like this, he would rather take another fifty years of the old man twinkling his knowing eyes at him than have to watch the angelic face of his godson illuminated with that haunting green light again and again, expressionless.
His mother was gone; she'd taken off somewhere, unable to cope with the changes occurring inside her sweet son... inside her no longer loving husband.
Voldemort and the war he started had really twisted them all.
But none of them more than Draco.
He had already made peace with their situation, yet still, sometimes, he wished they had chosen another employer to sign that bloody contract with. Severus rather felt like they had sold their souls to the devil for the next ten years.
"—rus? Severus?"
Severus blinked and Draco's face came back into focus. Shining grey eyes and cheeks pink as the bitter cold wind whipped at them relentlessly from the banks of the Thames, he was smiling at him widely – something only Severus was ever privy to seeing, to all others Draco Malfoy was no better than an ice sculpture that could wield a wand. He looked away.
"Stop zonin' out on me, old man, you've been actin' strange today, all melancholy and—Shite!"
Severus' head snapped back up to Draco's face. "Mind your language Draco," he chided, "We might be assassins but we're not animals. Use proper English for heaven's sake."
Severus couldn't tolerate the way Draco was mutilating his mother tongue. All the more because it was partly his fault, he should have never left his godson alone with the rest of the assassins Voldemort contracted. Cultureless animals that they were. Oh and how Draco loved using their uncouth manner of speaking in front of Severus, especially when he found out how it ticked him off.
"'For heaven's sake', Severus?" Draco asked in perfect English, cynicism dripping from his voice as he was inspecting whatever it was that he had stepped in, "There's no heaven, why would you use a pointless phrase such as that?" He chuckled and Severus shivered. "If you expect me to use proper English in my interaction with you, you should consider using proper terminology."
"It's phraseology."
"What?"
"It's phraseology," Severus repeated, "'for heaven's sake' is a phrase, not a term, you've said it yourself," he elaborated.
Draco sighed after offering another chuckle, "I thought you would finally drop the teacher act now that I got to do fieldwork." His face grew serious when he glanced at Severus again.
Severus stared straight ahead of him as he began to walk away from the desolate scene behind them. Draco was good at what he did – it looked like the house had never existed at all.
"There is still much for you to learn," he replied tersely and effectively closed the subject.
Draco followed after him, steel eyes dark and perturbed as he trudged through the snow, the tail of his leather coat trailing behind him. He hated it when Severus spoke of things he could not understand.
2. Inside reflections on broken surfaces
It was all Draco could do not to pull the old man by his coat sleeve and turn him around to scream in his face.
Severus had been acting like this for some time now. The better Draco was at his job, the darker Severus' demeanour got. It angered and frustrated him. He simply knew it wasn't jealousy, or that Severus felt threatened by his talent, when it came to assassination, there was no one better than his teacher, perhaps not even the assassins from the Guild. Draco had never said or done anything to him that could be interpreted as rude or insulting, just the opposite, he was doing everything he could to make the man proud of him.
Draco's fists clenched at his sides as he followed after the old man. His cold eyes were fixed on the wizard's black clad back and the strands of hair that slipped from the band on the back of his neck, they swirled around his face, dark like the night that descended upon them, whispered against his alabaster cheeks and clashed with their immaculate whiteness.
He averted his eyes when he caught himself staring.
He was a Malfoy and very bloody nearly the best in his business, why in Hades was he so worried over what his former teacher thought of him?
Draco shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He had no idea, but the feeling was there.
And that exactly was his problem.
With anyone else, his emotions were absent. Cold like the snow around them and everything was quiet inside of him. It was only his calculations and strategies that echoed in his mind.
But with Severus everything always seemed at its noisiest, at its most chaotic, even though Draco would rather be caught dead than admit that out loud. He was always caught inside his desperate wish to have his teacher's pride and affection, his respect and admiration. And Draco knew Severus cared about him, was proud of him... Just not anymore.
What had changed?
"Severus?" He called out tentatively as they walked.
"Yes?"
"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? We haven't dined together in weeks it would seem."
"Yes, it would seem so, wouldn't it?" Severus murmured and halted his footsteps before he turned around to face him.
Draco gazed up at him, for the first time noticing the lines around his eyes. Worry-lines they called them... Severus had never had those before. Draco nearly flinched when Severus reached a hand and put it against his cold cheek. It had been a long time since he had touched him like that as well. He closed his eyes and leaned into the warm palm. Severus' thumb caressed the crest of his cheekbone and the man sighed as he pulled Draco into an unexpected embrace.
Draco's eyes widened in surprise at the action. Severus had never done something like that before, something so intimate. It... It felt nice.
"Not tonight, Draco," he all but whispered into his hair as he rested his chin on the top of his head. "I am far too tired to banter with you tonight. "
"You don't have t—"
"No, Draco," Severus interrupted him and pulled away. Draco felt as if something had wilted inside of him when he realized Severus would not meet his eyes. Thick black strands covered them. "Tomorrow, all right?"
The blonde boy hated himself for feeling once again hopeful after those words. He shook his head to clear it and nodded. "All right then, tomorrow, Severus."
Severus finally looked at him then and his face wasn't a mask for once. He seemed worried and in pain. And Draco couldn't know the source of it.
He hated it, he hated not knowing.
3. Like holding onto smoke
Severus' chest burned when he pulled back from the embrace. He had wanted to do it for a long time now. But he was afraid of what it would feel like to finally hold the boy inside his arms. Would it be like embracing unyielding stone? Would his body feel as hard and as unforgiving and cold, as his manner had become?
But now that he had finally done it, it felt like none of those things. It was fragile and unstable, like smoke constantly threatened by the wind, ever-changing. Draco's hands were clinging to him with all the strength of a frightened child and yet he was almost a man, talented and educated, moulded and perfected by his own two hands.
His cheek had been so cold against his palm.
"I will see you at the meeting tomorrow morning," he said by way of greeting and nodded before apparating away from those steel, green-haunted eyes.
4. He looks like a Botticelli's angel, only cursed
Severus was still thinking about Draco when he arrived home. He shrugged out of his cloak and pulled off his gloves in the darkness of the foyer, all the while thinking about the disappointed boy he had left behind.
But he had to get away. Even in open air, Draco's presence was stifling. And the worst of all was – he wasn't even aware of the amount of power he had over Severus, over the rest of the world.
When Draco was a child, Severus was certain he would be a total failure as an assassin. He craved for attention, thrived on it. Everything he did was to earn the respect and admiration of others. Assassins were supposed to be shadows, invisible and mute while Draco was oftentimes loud and sparkling even when he wasn't trying to. Just one look at that boy's face was enough to remember it for a lifetime.
But over the years Draco's need for respect and admiration of others lessened. The only person he was desperate to impress was Severus. Not only that, but he let down his guard around him, dropped the whole pureblood etiquette business Severus so despised in the boy's father. Draco was still a child around Severus. Yet he was not the same. This child, this new child, so to speak, was different in the worst way – tainted by the darkest of magic, tainted by murder in a way none of the other assassins ever were, not like Severus was.
The most agonizing and beautiful part of it all was that Draco wasn't aware of it, of the curse lingering behind his eyes. He was still innocent.
Severus couldn't stay home for long. It was too quiet inside his big, empty apartment.
Now the London streetlights followed his footsteps as he made his way through muggle streets in search of an acceptable establishment to get pissed in.
II
"We aren't you a poster boy for drunk and lonely," someone, who was obviously either very, very foolish, or very, very brave, or, alas, very, very intoxicated, whispered next to his ear and then settled on the stool next to his and ordered a shot of Dracula's finest, whatever in the blazes that was. Apparently even muggles used ridiculous names for their beverages.
Severus lifted his gaze from his glass and turned his head to peer at the newcomer. His exterior remained as cool and unruffled as it had been moments before he saw the stranger's face, his interior, however, was a completely different story. The ever professional, seasoned assassin would have caught his breath, had he been in any less than perfect control over his body.
The fool who spoke to him so boldly was still merely a boy, or at least had the appearance of one, though his eyes looked much too old for his face. Yet that wasn't to say that they made him any less beautiful. Because he was and as much as Severus would have liked to deny it, he could not lie to himself so blatantly.
After receiving his drink, the boy raised his glass towards Severus in a mock toast and downed the ruby liquid, then ordered another.
"Are you sure you're not past your curfew?" Severus asked snidely when he finally found his voice.
The boy gave him a wry smile and downed another shot. "Your grandfatherly instincts taking over, old man?"
Severus smiled into his drink and shook his head. "Were I any less exhausted, I would hex you right out of your seat, you insolent brat."
The newcomer smiled in return, "Whom should I send a thank-you owl for wearing you out so, then?"
Not in the mood for another bout of brooding over Draco, Severus opted to change the subject. The other, less intoxicated part of his brain registered that the boy was a wizard and obviously recognized him as one, as well. "Haven't you been taught by your negligent parents that it is rude to pester other people like that? And without even properly introducing yourself, too." The assassin tutted and took another sip of his port before focusing his eyes on the boy once again.
The youth brushed a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear. Severus could not decide whether it was completely black or just brown in the dim lighting of their surroundings. Whatever its colour was, it was sleek and wavy and inviting as it cascaded down to his shoulders and framed his pale face and slightly slanted malachite eyes which were now blinking at him in mock indignation.
"Oh, if you wanted to know my name you could have simply asked without insulting my dead parents first." He smiled at the flicker of guilt that ghosted over Severus' face. Severus cursed himself for it.
"It's Isaiah," he answered and looked at Severus expectantly.
Severus, however, wasn't going to indulge him with his own acquaintance, but asked another question instead, his lips twisting into a smirk, "Isaiah... you mean like the Christian prophet who prophesized an apocalypse should they not turn back to their lord?"
"Precisely," Isaiah confirmed without missing a beat, though with a hint of irony to his voice. "I see that you find this terribly amusing, old man."
"Indeed," Severus murmured. "Why Isaiah, then? If it is not a reference to the Bible?"
"Are you always this nosy, old man? And no pun intended of course."
"Are you always this insolent?"
Three hours later, the two were found in a private booth off to the side of the pub, looking properly pissed. Isaiah covered his mouth as he half-yawned, then half-laughed at something Severus said.
Severus liked the way the shadows in the young man's eyes receded every time he smiled. He was tired, tired of death that seemed to surround him and shroud him like a pal and follow him wherever he went. Gazing into a pair of green, merry eyes lightened his heart in a way nothing else could ever do. Even if it was just for a single night, they painted over the haunting pools of gray that plagued him in his dreams, and he couldn't have stopped himself even if he wanted to, when he reached out to grasp Isaiah's hand when it rested atop the table.
Isaiah's laughter died down and his eyes darkened and grew serious as he sobered. Yet he left his hand to rest underneath his. Severus cursed at himself for being an open book in front of a complete stranger... and a bratty one at that.
"It is Severus," he said, "My name. Severus."
"Because you're so serious?" Isaiah mocked.
"Precisely. And I see that my name obviously amuses you as much as yours does me."
Isaiah's lips stretched into a small half-smile, it was almost fond. "Nice to make your acquaintance, then, Severus."
"I don't really know what's so nice about it, but alright."
"Like I've said, poster boy for drunk and lonely," Isaiah repeated his first words to him and chuckled lightly, his hand warming under Severus' palm. Isaiah turned his palm upside and grasped Severus' fingers, interlacing them.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Lonely, why do you look so lonely?" Isaiah clarified for him, and squeezed the other man's tapering fingers.
Severus smiled wryly and extricated himself from the youth's grasp. "My occupation bears no personal attachments."
He could have sworn he saw a flicker of hurt flit over the handsome face across from him. He ignored the pain which flared inside his chest in response.
"Yes, well, that is something I can understand, those pesky occupational hazards," Isaiah replied curtly and leaned back in his seat, his eyes as shadowed as they had been when he had first seen his face.
"Your occupation? You look like you should still be attending Hogwarts, not having an occupation."
"Well looks can be deceiving, Severus," Isaiah sneered and Severus found that it did not suit him at all. "I am seventeen and quite capable of taking care of my business."
"Why aren't you in school?"
"Homeschooled."
"By whom? As I recall, your parents are dead."
"And as I recall, I've already pointed out your horrible nosiness!" Isaiah snapped and smacked his hand on the table furiously. The hand Severus held in his own only moments ago.
Severus was about to break the last of his strict rules and apologize to the brat when Isaiah dissolved into fits of laughter. The older man simply stared at his convulsing form, looking for all the world as if someone had just told him Voldemort owned a kneazle farm.
"W—" he cleared his throat, "What is the matter with you?" He asked him, his eyes wide.
Isaiah looked up at him with teary eyes, still laughing like a maniac, "Your h—horrible nosiness! Nosiness!" And then there was laughter again. But this time different, it got more and more hollow as they boy was wearing himself down.
Severus moved to sit next to the boy and grasped his head to bring him to his eye level. "You crazy little, insolent brat," he whispered, his words almost lost in the din of the pub, "Yes, I am a great nosy bat and I am—I am sorry."
Isaiah leaned his forehead against his lips and sighed. "As you can see, I get a little unhinged at times," he murmured, "Another occupational hazard."
"And what is it you do?" Severus asked. Isaiah's skin tasted like salt and... was it black currant? He smelled like black currant, too. Everything about that boy was strange, right down to the jagged scar on his forehead Severus' lips were feeling right now.
Isaiah pulled away with a small frown. "Can't tell you."
"I guess that's alright," Severus smiled, "We're strangers after all."
"Why do I get the feeling that you don't smile often?" The youth asked suddenly.
"Well, I suppose we can assign that to those occupational hazards you are so fond of."
"Fair enough."
Isaiah slipped from his grip, but remained close. "Now what happens, old man?"
"You never told me why you were given such an archaic name," Severus reminded and sat back, content with staying right there for a couple of minutes more. There was nothing waiting for him at home.
"Take me home and maybe I'll tell you," was the bold reply and Severus smirked as he pulled out his moneybag to pay the check.
"Are you sure I am not too grandfatherly for your tastes, Isaiah?"
The young man in question grinned, the shadows finally receding from his eyes again. "We'll see if you can keep up, old man."
III
Isaiah was wringing his hands like an abused house elf while he was waiting for Severus to return from the bathroom. He suddenly got the feeling he had perhaps rushed things a bit. And why exactly? Because he had an unbelievably shitty day. Honestly, if the Master ever found out about this, he was in for some fine punishment. Isaiah cringed at the thought – his bones still ached from the last time he got punished for doing something incredibly stupid. He guessed he was lucky he was so proficient at his job and a quick study. He was still alive, wasn't he?
He studied Severus' apartment as soon as he set foot in it. Three rooms, from what he could see, a bathroom and a kitchen, plus a shamelessly huge, magically warmed and heavily warded balcony where he was currently lounging in one of the two wrought iron armchairs, drinking in the sight of west London stretched out underneath him. It was a marvellous sight and Isaiah wondered how Severus could afford the place. Plus, he hardly seemed the type.
"Enjoying the view?"
Isaiah jumped in his seat and then cursed his lack of vigilance as Severus handed him a glass of whiskey—he brought it closer to his nose for a quick cautionary sniff—very fine whiskey and sat down next to him.
"A muggle brand from Ireland, Jameson, in case you were wondering," the older man said while looking straight ahead of him, gaze lost somewhere far away. "Vintage and clean, I haven't spiked it with any kind of... unnecessary... stimulant."
Isaiah smirked into his glass as he took a sip, "An oc—"
"—cupational hazard," Severus interrupted with a smile in his voice, "I reckoned it would be that."
"Yeah," he smiled back and took another sip before setting down his glass. He toed off his boots and socks and shrugged off his coat. The navy porcelain tiles were lukewarm beneath his feet. It invoked a strange feeling within him, combined with the sight of snow-capped rooftops. He felt relaxed for the first time in – in ages, really.
He began to slowly unbutton his shirt as his feet carried him to Severus. The older man was about to stand up but Isaiah pushed him down as he let his white shirt slide down his arms to pool on the floor and then straddled the dark man's lap.
Isaiah had come to sort of love (he gave a mental snort) the man's facial expressions. Severus was exquisitely expressive when he let his smooth mask finally shatter for a few brief moments. For example, right now, as Isaiah was slowly, teasingly grinding his hips against him, his black eyes glittered and his lips stretched into a lazy smirk as he pulled him closer, bringing their faces together for a moment before he devoured his lips. And, gods, did the man know how to kiss.
Just as his hands were sneaking their way to the hem of Severus' pants, he felt a tug on his consciousness, which could only mean that he was once again needed on the job. He pulled away from the kiss and sighed in frustration as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the older man's forehead, quietly appreciating his silence as he opened his mind and let the connection strengthen.
Severus couldn't find it within himself to be disappointed as Isaiah pulled away from him, somewhere, in some forgotten crevice inside his overstuffed mind, still existed a little something called conscience and work ethics, perhaps some caution too. Really, what in the world was he doing? Screw the fact that the boy was nearly half his age, but he was a complete enigma with severe trust issues and what did Severus do? He brought him home with the intention of actually bedding him. He could very well murder Severus in his sleep!
But he didn't make a move to get Isaiah off of his lap, he quite liked him as he was. The closeness and the warmth of another's body provided him with comfort and much needed conviction that he was still very much human. So he just sat there awkwardly, watching the coal-haired wonder sitting on his lap, slouched and mildly frustrated.
"I gotta go, old man," Isaiah finally said as he looked up, "that pesky occupation of mine seems dead set on wrecking any semblance of a social life I might have." He gently removed himself from Severus' lap, his hands lingering on his knee, just a little longer than they should, before he straightened and reached for his shirt. "Could you open the wards for me so I can apparate directly from here?"
"Sure."
And a moment later, he was gone, leaving a very curious Severus Snape behind. A very capable and intrigued Severus Snape. It would only take a couple of minutes for the master of the wards to get a location his guest apparated to directly from his domain, after all.
IV.
The street was covered in snow, with only one set of boot-prints tainting the pristine layer of whiteness that had covered the pavement during the night. The first scarlet rays of sunrise barely penetrated the steely cover of fog that still crawled around the many houses and cars.
Isaiah watched the houses, watched the cars as he stood in the shadows, waiting for his target, and he thought about the things he would probably never have. He imagined the lives of the families inside those lovely Victorian buildings, ruddy-cheeked children sleeping soundly in their beds, husbands and wives slowly waking up and prepping for the day ahead, waiting for the paper-boy and brewing morning coffee, sharing a kiss or two while the kids were still asleep... Ignorant muggles, magicless, powerless, weak, and yet so much happier than him who was filled to the brim with potent magic and had abilities some could only dream of.
He thought about Severus and the night they almost shared, about how good it felt to actually feel something and be impulsive for a change, how good it felt to be held for those few moments. He flashed a sad smile as he took out a cigarette and lit it up, knowing that he would probably end up cherishing that memory for the rest of his miserable life.
What would have happened if the Guild hadn't pulled him away to do a job? Would he have made a grave mistake or would he have finally done something in his life that was meant to make him, and only him, happy?
Shite, he couldn't remember the last time he had a day off to just fucking live a little. He even ended up living at the Guild's dorms, forsaking his own home for that life.
Movement inside the target's house roused him from his thoughts and he started moving in closer, carefully observing the man he was about to kill. The things he saw, as he crept along the back yard, sticking close to the walls and numerous snow-coved bushes, they made his heart clench with guilt.
Two sleepy boys were sitting at the kitchen counter, still rubbing their eyes and yawning as the mother served their breakfast and poured coffee for her husband. Isaiah had no clue what the man had done to deserve death by his hands, he preferred it that way. The only thing he knew was that this man had everything Isaiah ever wanted. And now he would storm into the life of this beautiful family and leave it in shambles.
There were days when he really hated his job.
1. Tugging
Things were hectic when Isaiah made his way back into the Guild's headquarters. He couldn't be bothered with asking around about the cause of all that ruckus. If he had anything to do with it or a solution to offer, he was sure someone would fetch him sooner or later.
He left the busy entrance hall and turned left through the big double door that led into the left wing of the castle, up several staircases and winding corridors to finally get to his room and collapse upon the unmade bed. It's been several years now since he'd banished the house elves from his part of the complex. Those things were loyal only to the Guild Master and they tended to stick their overly large noses into places that were really none of their business. That was also the reason why his rooms looked like a monsoon had just ravaged them.
Isaiah couldn't have been asleep longer than an hour when he started to feel the strange pull inside his body. It felt as if an invisible hand wrapped its long and bony fingers around his core, tugging at it with all the stubbornness of a thestral trying to break free of its harness.
Before he could even try to figure out what was happening to him, Isaiah was gone, his wand and daggers remaining as the only proof that he was ever even there.