Author's Notes: Written back in 2007, after Deathly Hollows had been published (but, interestingly, before Dumbledore's sexuality and such had officially 'come out', though I'd be stunned if anyone was surprised about the whole Dumbeldore/Grindelwald thing after Book 7). This is written slightly non-linearly - the parts in italics take place in the past.
The rest of the wizarding world constantly questions why I trust Severus Snape. Order of the Phoenix members mutter about his untrustworthiness the moment Severus sweeps out of meetings, seemingly believing that I can't make out their disparaging words. Minerva, on the other hand, has asked me point-blank, more than once, what it is that everyone but me has apparently overlooked.
I assure all who assert otherwise that Severus can be trusted, and that I have my reasons for believing in him. I never tell them that it is by my design that they have overlooked those reasons.
No one would understand my justifications if I shared them. They wouldn't understand if I told them that I have far more reason to trust Severus than I have to trust even myself.
He is not perfect, certainly. He is perhaps the most selfish man I know, just for a start. He's very much on his own side of the war, and I know it. However, I admit that I share that character flaw with him, for it has been quite a long time since my thoughts have strayed beyond what I want and need.
Severus and I are very alike, in the end. We share many flaws. No one is perfect, but we both happen to be a little less perfect than most. I can admit to this. I long ago sacrificed the last of my illusions about my character. I know exactly who and what I am.
Everything in life depends on pretence. I am what the world believes I am. People depend on that public idea of 'Albus Dumbledore: Hero of the Wizarding World'. I depend on it as well. After all, by keeping my secrets, I am shielding myself from having to deal with them each and every day. It can hardly matter if I cling to them just a little bit longer, throughout what I know is to be the fairly short remainder of my life.
There are so many things that I wish to keep secret until then.
Chief among them is the way I accepted Severus' offering to me of 'anything'. That remains between the two of us, as it should. No one else suspects. This is unsurprising, since Severus himself never suspected what my acceptance would mean either; who else would even begin to believe it, with that in mind.
I have demanded no less of him than everything. He has kept his word nonetheless. That alone would have made him a trustworthy man in my eyes.
I must admit, though, that he took on his role very unwillingly at first. Oh, he fell to his knees before me each morning as easily as he took to spying on Tom when I asked it of him. He is very talented when it comes to deception. Considering how resentful he'd been even back when he first nearly prostrated himself before me on an isolated hilltop and begged me not to kill him, I know that it must have been pretence. No matter how convincing he is, I know that his bitterness was at that point as great, if not greater, than that night he first begged for my help.
He bowed his head and turned his face away from me in what would have seemed to an outsider like a sincere show of submission. I, however, could feel the unrelenting solidity of his Occlumency shielding, which meant he had something to hide. I also caught occasion glimpses of his face. I'd have been a fool to accept his expression as anything but the harshest of scowls.
I actually treasure the memory of it now that his face has turned artlessly blank in a way I've never seen it before. It heartens me that he was once so alive. It helps me believe that he can be so again. Though I enjoy his perfect submissiveness much more than I'd like to admit, I greatly prefer to see his anger, his grief, his disgust – anything to prove that he didn't die right alongside Lily Potter and his freedom, as much as he might have claimed to want to then.
I want to see that feeling again.
It took me a while longer than I would like to admit to recognise the symptoms, but I did eventually see his shifting behaviour for what it was. He is grieving. He is not grieving for his situation. He is not even grieving for Lily's death. She was lost – to him, at least – long before Tom stole her life away. It is that loss that he has been grieving for several years on end. She was dead to him before she ever hit the ground, even if he never wanted to believe it.
He certainly has always been talented at denial. He'd latched onto his Slytherin 'friends', back then, focusing his attentions on them as easily as if Lily Evans had never existed in the first place. He undoubtedly told himself that that was as things should be, and that there was nothing wrong. It was as clear as day that he was constantly reminding himself that he didn't need Lily Evans anyway.
He obviously did, because he turned into a mess without her friendship.
That was, of course, about the time that his anger hit with as much subtlety as a Gryffindor barrelling towards class because he's late. I wasn't surprised in the least to learn that Severus had taken the Dark Mark, then. He and Tom have always been practically made for each other, with their respective less than savoury childhoods, Muggle fathers who basically ignored their existence, ambition and love of the Dark Arts. They are as alike, in fact, as Severus and I are alike. As Voldemort and I are alike, even. If I hadn't already realised how imperfect I am, that revelation might have broken me. I hate to think that I have anything in common with Tom.
Perhaps Severus saw the same thing, though, for he turned to me as well as Tom when his opportunity for bargaining arose. It may not have saved Lily's life, but it certainly saved Severus'.
Not that he truly appreciated it. In typical sullen Slytherin fashion, he quickly decided that a single occasion in which he could unleash his anger just wasn't enough. The first few months we spent in close quarters were incredibly tense. I waited every day for him to lash out at me, though I knew that he could do me little harm; he is talented, but I have immeasurably higher levels of magic, which I have honed for over a century. He wouldn't stand a chance. That feeling that I could be attacked at any moment, therefore, was far more bearable than his current apathy.
I hope that it doesn't take him too long to get past this depression. Several months of it have already passed, and I am now beginning to despair right along with him.
I can't help but think that I've bound myself to the shell of Severus Snape rather than the man himself. I hate the very idea.
"And what will you give me in return, Severus?" "In – In return?" Severus repeats, sounding every bit like a lost child. I am reminded that he is, after all, only a few years out of school. In any other situation, I might reach out to him, granting him whatever small comfort he could possibly feel at a time like this. It's hard to reconcile his youth with the fact that he's already made enough mistakes to last his entire lifetime. Perhaps it shouldn't be so hard, considering my own past. He is so much like I was back then that it pains me to see him prostrating himself before me, as he must have also done before Tom. I was many things as a young man, but I was never a follower. He should never have had to be, either. But he made his decisions. He is no longer a child. He must live with his mistakes without my brand of reassurance to aid him. Since I managed to live through my many lapses in judgment, I'm certain that he can do the same. He's just as strong as I am at his core. The silence between us seems to stretch, as if Severus is unsure precisely what he's willing to give in order to protect the woman he claims to love. On the face of it, it is not a difficult question. It should be the easiest answer he's ever had to give, if he loves her as much as he claims. I know from experience, though, that those are truly the hardest things to say. I can tell by the sudden set of his jaw that he has come to a conclusion in his own mind. "Anything," he says finally. I want to laugh pitilessly. I restrain myself. It's a loaded promise that he is too young – and certainly too rash, if his past actions are any indication – to understand. It's remarkably Gryffindor in nature, to tell the honest truth of the matter. If there's one thing I never suspected Severus Snape of being, it's like a Gryffindor. Nonetheless, though he doubtless has no idea what he has promised me with one simple word, I think I will hold him to his word, when the time comes. I nod at him. "I will protect the Potters – all of the Potters – but I will do it for their sake, not yours. I will leave it to you whether you yourself wish help protect them – her – by reporting any information you learn during your encounters with Voldemort." Severus flinches, though whether at the sound of the forbidden name or at the choice with which I have presented him, I cannot be certain. "After all," I continue, "the more we know, the safer she'll be." "He will find out," Severus says. "The Dark Lord knows all." I glare down my crooked nose at him. "No more than I do, I think. Don't pretend to believe that I haven't noticed you are an accomplished Occlumens, Severus. If you can keep me out, I'm certain that you can do the same to him." Severus seems uncertain of this, but I can tell I have caught his interest, at least. "He is powerful." "So am I. I can protect her, but I can do so better if you help me." "You'll use the information to help save her?" Severus asks. "If you return, of your own volition, and give me the information I need, I'll use it to help save the Potters. It will hopefully save all of us. Even you, Severus. And when the time comes, I may take you up on your offer to do 'anything' in return for my help." Severus looks stunned that I would agree to his request so easily. Perhaps he expected me to be as merciless and irrational as his 'Dark Lord'. Perhaps he even expected to die attempting to gain my assistance. Or perhaps he is just surprised that I would consider saving him. If he's as much like me as I suspect, perhaps he believes he isn't worth saving. Nevertheless, he nods almost curtly and rises to his feet. He doesn't bother to brush the leaf litter from the front of his black robes – Death Eater robes, I realise with a resurgence of the scorn I felt for him only a minute ago. He doesn't quite turn his back on me as he walks outside the ward I created to shield us from the elements. I watch as the wind whips once more through his already unkempt hair. He turns on the spot and Disapparates.
He brings breakfast up to my office for me this morning, like a common house elf. Will wonders never cease?
Perhaps he has truly accepted his situation now. There was a time when he thought himself superior to Muggles (despite his own half-blood status, much like Tom himself), let alone house elves. Now, in all honesty, the similarity between his situation and the house elves' is striking. Even his loyalty is similarly enforced.
His obvious acceptance of the spell's effects has seemed to heal rather than break him, thankfully. He can no longer pretend to be superior to everyone and everything, but he has found ways to at least feel equal. He's drawn a sort of boldness that I never knew existed out from deep inside himself. Like any good Slytherin, he clearly decided early in life that the best of himself should be hidden deep (where it could not be used against him) until the time was right.
Now is apparently that time. I'm glad.
Less than a year ago, Severus would have kept his averted eyes focused so intently on the stone floor that I could have sworn he was studying the pattern of the cracks. Now I actually catch his eyes flicking upwards to glance at me before settling once more on the ground in front of the trolley filled with edible goods.
There is no longer any true expression of blame in his eyes. I would deserve his continued reproach, of course, but I'm pleased that he has moved on in some way. For someone of Severus' temperament, it is a significant step forward.
I realise upon surveying his offering that only two people – not including the countless house elves around Hogwarts, of course, since they can never really quite be 'people' – have ever thought to hand-deliver food to me. It has been a hundred years at least since those occurrences.
The first – my mother, of course – has been dead for all those long years. And though I know he is still alive – I have made it my business to keep track of his situation, after all – Gellert has been just as dead to me for almost as long.
"Severus," I greet him kindly. Once he might have flinched away, unwilling to hear that tone in my voice. He would take it to be pity. Now he either knows better, or has decided that it isn't worth his effort to worry about it.
"I trust that you are fully aware of the date?" I ask. I've been meaning to ask him for several days whether he remembers, but the time has never seemed right. "I rather thought you might have better things to do this fine Halloween."
Severus' scowl, the first I've seen in many months, informs me that he's not pleased with how cavalier I sound. I know that I'm mocking him slightly, and that I shouldn't. I keep doing it subconsciously, trying to make him lash out at me almost against my own will. I can't really describe my motive for doing so, as I don't truly understand it myself. Perhaps it has been too long since anyone has attempted to challenge me.
Or perhaps, more likely, it is just that I want to see his dark eyes come to life again. I want to see him look at me with as much emotion as he did when he begged me for Lily Potter's life, or when he broke down into anguished cries upon her death. Every glimpse of such spirit seems designed to fuel an addiction I didn't realise until now that I possessed.
I barely remember what it's like to be besotted against my better judgement. I want him to remind me.
Even I can admit, though, that it's rather ridiculous that I have to live vicariously through Severus' infatuation, especially since his situation has even less ability to resolve itself in a positive way than my own ever did.
Severus has finally found his tongue. It takes him a while to decide what to say. He is very careful in how much he reveals to me.
He needn't be. Even with his Occlumency in full force, the truth is apparent. It seems obvious, on this occasion.
There can clearly be nothing he'd prefer to do on this particular day.
"I may have had plans," Severus admits, "were it not for classes. Of course, classes on Halloween are naught but a mockery of everything for which Hogwarts stands, even if the Professor is in attendance."
"I should think that you could have found a replacement for the day, if you feel it wouldn't have made a difference."
Severus grimaces. "Who? None of the other 'teachers' here are willing to aid me unless you first order them to do so. And they don't know the first thing about the subtleties of potions. They'd have the students exploding cauldron after cauldron even while brewing the sort of piss-weak love potions that are sold pre-made in Diagon Alley. There would be no survivors to tell the tale."
Severus smirks. I'm reminded that he is often very much a Slytherin. He's Head of Slytherin now, in fact, as of the beginning of term two months earlier.
"On second thought, perhaps another teacher would be a good idea," he says slyly. "The fewer brats I have to put up within a week, the better. It would be a significant improvement to my classes."
I reply, "Now, now, Severus, none of that. But if you did want a replacement, I could step in myself, if it was just for a few classes. Surely you aren't going to tell me you have no confidence in my ability to make a potion? Or to teach, for that matter?"
Severus looks more disgruntled than ever by now. "You…" He grits his teeth. "You would undoubtedly be an adequate substitute, Headmaster. That is not the issue. I have been ordered to remain on the Hogwarts grounds. If the Ministry found out I'd left…"
Ah. Of course.
"You are in my custody, as far as the Ministry is concerned," I remind him mildly. "They wouldn't interfere if I accompanied you to Godric's Hollow. I assume that would have been your destination? Again, Severus, you need only have asked," I assure him.
Severus looks almost helpless at that, which seems a strange sight even after I have lived through many months of him being almost entirely dependent on me (for he was at one stage so depressed that he wouldn't have bothered to satisfy even his basic needs had I not used my authority over him to order that he do so).
Severus gestures wordlessly at the breakfast trolley.
I have always been acknowledged as particularly quick on the uptake, if I do say so myself.
"Ah, yes, of course. You've given me a peace offering. But you needn't have buttered me up with breakfast. Didn't I promise that I'd make sure your needs were looked after as best I could?"
I can see clearly that he'd believed it to be an empty assurance. I can practically see the unexpected knowledge that it is a promise that actually will be kept thrumming through his body like waves of energy. I'll be interested to see how he uses that knowledge.
"I will inform Minerva that I'm leaving for the day and arrange for someone to take your Potions classes," I say. "Then I shall meet you in the Entrance Hall in an hour, after I've had a chance to take care of everything and, of course, eat this delicious looking breakfast you've provided. I think I'm rather overdue for a trip to my old home, personally."
Severus snorts under his breath. I didn't know until this very moment that it was even possible to do something like that.
"Of course you lived there as well. Why am I even surprised? Godric's Hollow, a town filled with nothing but tragedy and insane Gryffindors," he muses humourlessly.
He doesn't even know the half of it.
Despite his inadvertently painful reference, I find myself feeling pleased. The fact that he's given in to his instinct to insult everything that breathes is promising. He generally watches his words too closely around me, as if he believes that I'll throw him to the dogs (or the Ministry, as the case may be) if he makes a mistake.
Perhaps the new knowledge of my promise to take care of him no matter what is sinking in already.
He stumbles slightly as he rises, as if his legs are too numb to hold him. I wonder how long he waited for me to arrive, kneeling on the floor like as much of an offering as the food.
I reach almost involuntarily for him, capturing his wrist in my hand as if to steady him. He stares down at where our skin touches for a moment before shrugging me off. He's not as quick to break the hold as I would have expected.
I try not to hope that that means something. I don't need to concern myself with such things just now. Visiting Godric's Hollow will be draining enough on my emotions as it is.
"Where are they hiding?" "I would be a very poor protector indeed if I simply gave out that information upon request. Why, you could be Lord Voldemort himself in disguise, for all that I know. He is also an accomplished Occlumens, as I'm sure you are aware. How could I possibly be expected to see the truth through either of your shields?" "Merlin's balls, Dumbledore, this isn't the time for mind games! I have to know where she is! The Dark Lord, he… he disappeared just now, without telling any of us his intentions. Then there was pain like nothing I've ever suffered before and my Mark… my Mark…" Severus pulls his sleeve back to reveal the Dark Mark. The outlines of the skull and snake, which is looking less distinctive than it has on the previous occasions I've seen it, are fading progressively with each passing moment. It is a heartening sight, despite what I fear that it means. "Tell me she's safe," Severus begs. "James and Lily Potter are residing at 7 Flint Street, Godric's Hollow," I say. I find myself simultaneously surprised and resigned when the words flow freely out of my mouth. "They're…" Severus begins, but he trails off in confusion. He looks just as surprised as I that I have suddenly given the information he seeks, seemingly without reserve. I sigh, dismay fighting with the hope I felt upon seeing the diminished Mark. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that they are safe after all, Severus," I admitted. My eyes meet his. For once, I let my expression become readable. His own eyes are somehow even more panic-filled than they were just a moment ago. "I can't say they are safe, for that shouldn't have been my secret to tell." Severus had always been, if nothing else, quite incredibly cognisant of the underlying meaning of things. His eyes soon predictably widen with understanding. " He grasps involuntarily at the stone outer wall of the castle (where he'd accosted me as I intercepted him outside the school after he'd set the wards off) as if the rough surface will save him from drowning. "I have to… I have to see… She could still be…" Severus stumbles away from the castle in the direction of Hogsmeade, from where he will undoubtedly Apparate to the Potters' house. I'll have to send my own scout to Godric's Hollow to ascertain for sure what happened. However, even with what little information we have, I think we both know that what Severus will find will not be what he was hoping for. For a moment, I feel something other than disgust or pity for him. "Severus," I call after him. "I'm sorry." I really doubt that he's of a mind to actually hear me.
The new knowledge that I will keep my covenants to him has apparently made Severus grow bolder than ever.
Though it perhaps interferes with our ability to maintain appearances, I can't bring myself to be sorry.
Now, when he kneels by my desk in the evenings, Severus does not even pretend that he is not surveying me. There are no darting glances here and there anymore. Instead, he looks me straight in the eyes, unflinching, with an open sort of regard tinting his expression.
He's studying me. I wonder what he sees.
I can't help but stare back, suddenly very mindful of the flickers of… of something in his eyes.
I'd given up my search for the Deathly Hallows and their uses just in time to form this connection with him. I realise now that I gave up one terrifying obsession for another.
I've seen the same intensity that fills his gaze in a different face, and a much different setting. I have missed the sight of it, in fact, and I relish seeing it again now. It's hard to remember, when facing Severus like this, that I am not still seventeen and filled with more passion than I truly know how to handle.
Severus does not flinch away when I unexpectedly reach a hand out to caress his face. He seems to take it into stride, though I have never done anything like it before now. It would have almost pained me to touch him in the early days of our 'association', when he clearly wouldn't have been in a position to even possibly want it. I have enough dirt and blood on my hands already, without putting my hands upon him when he couldn't say no. But this new life surfacing within him draws me like a moth to the proverbial flame.
"Tell me to stop," I beg him.
He says nothing. He continues looking at me with his eyes locked to mine. I would assume that he was trying to penetrate my mind, except that I know he's more intelligent than to think that's possible, even for someone as accomplished in the mental arts as him.
The only explanation for all this, then, is that we have clearly been spending too many hours alone in each other's company.
Well, there's also always the possibility that we've both lost our minds. If we were both sane, surely I wouldn't be so obviously latching on to him, and he would be pushing me away.
To seek out that lost intensity I remember so clearly through this man – this boy, still – should have been unthinkable to me. Perhaps once it might have been. I imagine his soul is almost as old and weary as mine, in many ways (particularly, his trials have given him an ancient sort of look to his eyes that I'm quick to recognise from my own youth). But the skin of his cheek under my wizened hand is so smooth and free of even the rasp of stubble that I can scarcely believe he's already several years past the age of majority.
He's too young. He's much too young.
Yet I doubt that alone will stop this thing, whatever it is, in its tracks.
Though I wish it could be otherwise, it doesn't truly surprise me that I would want to impose myself on him this way. I needn't be seventeen to still feel passion. And it has been so long…
My hand moves to anchor itself firmly in his dark, greasy hair. It is so different in every way from Gellert's that my grip grounds me in the present.
It's Severus I'm with now, at this moment. I mustn't forget that. Otherwise what I am doing will become unforgivable rather than merely unthinkable.
Though I have been guilty of many bad deeds in my life, the idea of taking advantage of my connection with Severus and substituting it for what I once had as a young man – younger even than he is now – remains quite abhorrent to me.
It's strange to think that I still have some principles after all.
What I have decided must be Severus' burgeoning trust in me is more than I deserve. I can't fail him. My tattered conscience won't even hear of it.
I have made a promise to protect him, and I intend to keep it.
If I can't, this arrangement, such as it is, will have all been for nothing. I can't do that to him.
"I know this isn't the idea time to discuss this, but we are left with little choice. The Death Eaters are being rounded up. I seem to remember from your reports of Voldemort's activities that you and Igor Karkaroff knew of each other's status as Death Eaters. He has been captured. He was one of the first to fall, as I hear it. It's unsurprising. He was never particularly talented. He was also never particularly loyal. I know his type; Karkaroff will give you up to save his own hide in less than a heartbeat." The emotion that filled Severus' eyes when he cried moments ago seems to have fled. The black depths instead look strangely dull and empty in that moment. It doesn't suit him at all, I decide. I want the emotion back, despite myself. "You could run, of course," I suggest dispassionately. "The Ministry might take a few years to track you down, if you so wished it. You're talented enough at subterfuge for that. Nevertheless, they would eventually catch you. You are not used to living like a Muggle, regardless of your parentage. You would eventually make a tiny slip up that you didn't even realise was a mistake and they would bear down on you in moments, too quickly for even you to make yourself scarce. And then the punishment for evading justice would be the Dementor's Kiss, rather than the incarceration in Azkaban you can currently expect." Severus' eyes widen. I hadn't realised that he had anything left to truly fear, since Lily Potter's death, but apparently the threat of the Dementor's Kiss is still enough to get to him. I continue, "And even in the short time you have, you wouldn't be able to stay in the magical world. You would have to hide away uselessly until they found you and took even that away. It would all be such a waste of your talent. You were an outstanding student in several of your classes, I remember. Surely you want the opportunity to put those skills to the test in the real world?" It doesn't take a genius to realise that the best way to get results with a Slytherin is to appeal to his ambition and his preservation instinct. Severus remains silent in response. I will take that as an affirmation, and let him contradict me if it is otherwise. "Your ambition led you astray once, of course," I reproach. "You can't be left to do exactly as you please. The Ministry wouldn't hear of it, and nor, I think, would I. However, if we could find a way to make certain you stayed here at Hogwarts and under my control, the Ministry would leave you alone. As long as a few safeguards were put in place, of course." "The Unbreakable Vow –" "Ah, I thought you might suggest that. No, Severus, I don't think that would be a valid option at this point in time. The Unbreakable Vow is, as you know, effective only because the party taking the vow fears that breaking it will end his or her life. Didn't you tell me just minutes ago that you wished you were dead? The Unbreakable Vow would have no sway over you, if that is truly the case. I worry about the possibility that you might even break it on purpose. It's a swift, painless sort of death, or so the texts suggest. That must sound enticing to someone who is already suicidal." Severus mutters something that might have been, "I don't deserve it to be painless." Of course, I'll readily admit that I am getting on in years, so my hearing can hardly be trusted. As such, I'll wilfully choose not to make an issue of it. His self-loathing is not my concern, right now. His self-preservation, though, is paramount; even though I shouldn't care for his fate, I can't bring myself to break my implied promise to protect him if he does as I have asked. Though it seems strange to think it, he put his life on the line at my request, even if it was for selfish reasons. He has done enough to deserve my help. And, if he agrees to my terms, I think he will also have earned my trust. That issue will be moot, of course, since agreeing means that he's given me the means to enforce his loyalty. Trust won't be necessary. I'd like to know I can trust him regardless, though. I'd like to be able to trust
"But just because the Unbreakable Vow is not a viable option in this case doesn't mean that you shouldn't still have a chance to prove your loyalty," I say. "If you agree to my terms, I can give evidence on your behalf and prove to the Ministry that you are no longer a threat."
"So what would you have me do?" Severus sneers.
"You once told me that you would do anything in exchange for my help. The time has come to live up to your word. I promise that I will protect you. You just have to trust me."/i
Merlin forgive me.
Perhaps I should ask Severus to forgive me, too. After all, it is by my design that he has been in such close quarters with me for two years, now. It is my spell that forces him to fall to his knees as a sign of submission, though in every other way we seem to be more on equal footing now than we've ever been. And it is my touching (harmless enough though it may have outwardly been to begin with) that coaxes him into seeking more from me.
However, I had nothing to do with his choice to drape himself (naked) across my bed. That factor of free will seems terribly important now.
He chose to be here. There seems little point in apologies in light of that.
He is without any other outlet. He's barely passed his teenage years. What did I expect?
I can't help but forgive him his weakness, even though my own will not be so easily forgotten. I hate that I can't stop myself under my own steam. If he would only speak up…
If he doesn't want this, let him say so. I'll welcome it, as my own conscience seems strangely unwilling to do more than protest silently and half-heartedly.
I find myself more stirred by the sight of him so licentiously displayed than I imagined would be possible. I am old, after all, and he is by no means classically attractive. It shouldn't be so difficult to remain strong. But, just as I have been unable to stop thinking for many months now, it has been so very long since I have had any opportunity like this, let alone taken it.
"I'm not her." And you're not him.
"I know," he says. I'm not quite convinced that he means it, really, but the challenge in his expression warns me to keep that information to myself. He believes he wants this from me, even though I'm clearly far from the object of his great obsession (his great love, he would say, but I recognise the symptoms of obsession in him, having retrospectively identified them just as clearly in myself).
Who am I to dissuade him from exercising his discretion in what small areas of choice are still available to him? I am not a good man, but neither am I quite that needlessly cruel.
I lock eyes with him. See, I remind him with my gaze, see how these eyes are blue rather than green. I am not her. I won't be kind, or loving, or gentle like she might have been, had she been interested in doing with you what I am about to do.
It will be desperate, I promise him silently. It can't be otherwise, because that would require us to stop and think, and neither of us seems willing to do that. If we do that, we won't start again. That's not an option.
We both need this too much to stop now.
He has more Gryffindor bravery in him than I ever really give him credit for. Perhaps he has more of it than I do (and I was actually a Gryffindor during my own school years).
Who else but a courageous man could have agreed to my terms in the first place, knowing what must inevitably come of it?
Though we will never admit it, we are both less surprised by our actions now than we pretend to be.
That same sort of daring that allowed him to begin this journey reflects in his gaze even as I engulf his member with my mouth.
Severus releases a guttural groan that might have been words, but I can't distinguish their meaning, if they actually have any. After that, he falls silent, though he is by no means altogether unresponsive.
I have to hold his hips in place for most of it, though he would deny that after the fact, refusing to believe that he could ever be overcome by anything.
I can't say that I truly mind.
When he's so close that he can't quite keep quiet anymore, it occurs to me how inexperienced he seems. That is not without good reason. This may, after all, be the first time anyone's done this to him. Having seen him through seven years of school, it seems unlikely that his feelings for Lily Evans were ever requited, and he would have had little time and money to spend seeking out whores. Who else would have wanted him, then? I can hardly believe that I want him now.
So he's quite possibly a virgin, I realise. And I'm despoiling him. I thought I couldn't feel any guiltier. But I can't deny that the shiver it sends down my spine is utterly delicious.
His release, when it hits, is still wordless (though not precisely silent, for he dissolved several minutes ago into an elongated moan). I wonder if, like me, he doesn't quite trust himself to speak during the fact, lest a name – the wrong name – should slip past his lips.
I am very sorry to admit the combination of seeing him topple over the edge like that and my own jealousy (yes, jealousy) at the thought of him saying her name leads me to take him rather roughly after that, regardless of the fact that it might be his first time. I may be aging, but I'm hardly frail just yet. I can still hurt him physically, like this, just as I can hurt him with magic if I so choose. I at least have the presence of mind to summon lubrication, and to use it, but everything after that is so hurried and forceful that it can't possibly be entirely enjoyable for him.
I still can't seem to stop myself, though. It's a reminder to him that I am not her; she could hardly have thrust into him this way, and her hands on him would have been soft and smooth rather than coarse and wrinkled. It's also a distraction for me to allow me to keep my mind from envisioning blonde hair and a devilish smile.
He doesn't complain. Though the students undoubtedly think otherwise, he rarely does whine about his troubles, even though I have given him free reign to do so in private. He prefers to keep to himself and suffer silently. It's equally foolish and intrepid. Just like a Gryffindor.
That thought is being attached to him more often now than I would have believed possible.
I will tell him more than once in the years to come that perhaps he should have been a Gryffindor after all. Perhaps I should have been a Slytherin, with my cunning and, yes, my cowardice. Perhaps Hogwarts simply Sorts the students too early. Some people are lucky enough to be then influenced by their House. Some of us, though, grow beyond the confines of our Sorting and can only ever quite fit in if we provide our fellows with a false front of some sort to make it appear we are the same as they.
But who am I to question generations' worth of tradition? It would be highly hypocritical of me, considering how eagerly I'd taken up the time-honoured pureblood tradition of hating Muggles in my youth.
Although, considering what I now preach to the wizarding world, I'm already a hypocrite anyway.
It's a wonder that no one has ever truly questioned me. It's a wonder that Severus can take his usual position before me and not be so bitter that he can barely breathe for the resentfulness coursing through him.
I know, though, that Severus is spirited to his very core, even when he doesn't seem it. Just because he chose both to submit himself to Voldemort and to submit himself to me doesn't mean that he should be forced to give up any part of himself in anything but name.
And yet he has done so. He has taken what he wants, and given something of himself in return.
I speak of trust, of course. Not love. Never that.
Our hearts are both reserved. He certainly makes no effort to hide that from me now, or later. Even in submission he maintains his pride, I note as I slump down on top of him.
I take him in hand, then, as if it will somehow make up for my rough treatment of him. Despite that earlier treatment, it takes him very little time to collapse from his second orgasm of the night, which my guilt makes me feel obliged to draw out of him.
We lay awkwardly alongside each other once it's over. Severus looks vaguely uncomfortable with my semen dripping between his thighs and his arse pounded raw, but I can tell he's hiding the truth of it away as he always does.
"You're not her," Severus says after he's had a moment to compose himself.
I am surprised that it doesn't sound more like an accusation. It doesn't seem to be a question, either. I am silent, for once not quite knowing what to say.
"You've told me several times that you would take care of me," he continues. "I don't think I believed it until now. Can I trust you to keep your word, then?"
No, I thought. I can't be trusted. Just look what I've just done to you. I certainly wasn't taking care of you a moment ago, when I was using you with barely a thought to your comfort.
"Of course," I say instead, a benevolent smile gracing my features. "You can always trust me, Severus."
"You will be closer to me than you have ever been to anyone. You will feel indebted to me. You must be prepared for all that that might entail," I warn. He glares at me. He finds it ridiculous that I would even attempt to challenge his sincerity, I'm sure. But I must be certain he knows what he's doing. The binding spell is my idea, of course (just the thought that Severus would think to bind himself to my will without my prompting is ludicrous). I will provide the energy required to create it. He must give his consent, though. He is only accepting the bond in order to save himself, like any good Slytherin. That will not change the nature of the bond. He must be forewarned, if only for my own peace of mind. The spell is remarkably simple. It is also simple to break; this, I presume, is a safeguard against the spell being placed on an unwilling recipient. But Severus can't afford to end it. The moment the connection is voluntarily cut off, the Ministry will be only too eager to swoop down upon him and haul him to Azkaban. It bothers me that the Ministry can track the existence of the spell, but I do see the reason it is necessary. It is designed for discipline operating outside normal legal methods, which the Ministry has allowed in Severus' case only because I vouched for him as a spy. Under the present system of government and law, such a spell can't be effectively enforced unless the threat of the Ministry on top of that of the 'Master' of the spell is firmly in place. It would be too easy to evade real punishment, otherwise. So as the spell forces Severus to his knees in front of me, as it will do every time he is alone in my presence from now onwards, he can do nothing to fight it. The alternative to this is Azkaban, which is really no choice at all. For a moment, though, he looks as though he might be willing to give that horrific prison a try. I can see how angry he is. He's been that way since he agreed to allow me to perform the spell. He resents the fact that I am helping him more than he resents what he has to sacrifice to ensure that help. I can't seem to convince him that it is not just due to pity that I've offered to do this for him. However much I wish I could make him understand, though, that spark of life in his eyes makes my heart inexplicably beat just a little bit harder. "I am to give you orders that I can relay to the Ministry to convince them that you're under my control. They will be drawn up in an official document. The Ministry will use that document to monitor the continued existence of the binding." Severus grunts his agreement. "All right. The rules are as follows. First of all, you may make any dissent against me you wish in private, but you will not actively rebuke my decisions in public, even if it's over something is trivial as, say, the taking of House points. The Ministry must think you are cowed by me. That is the easiest way to present such a façade. "You must also, as we have discussed, stay at Hogwarts. You will teach Potions unless and until I say otherwise. I will allow you to pursue research that I have approved in your spare time. You will appear perpetually interested in the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, whether you truly are or not, but you will not hold that position unless I decide otherwise. It is best people think that I am wary of allowing you contact with the Dark Arts. In fact, I am sorry to say that that is very much the truth. I would hate for you to be too tempted. "You will meet with me in my office once a day. We must spend time together so that outsiders don't grow suspicious. They will think that I have you running about doing my bidding. It serves our purposes to have them think that. They wouldn't believe it if we did so in public, of course, because we are both secretive sorts of men. The Ministry knows that I don't want any knowledge of you being bound to me in this way leaking out to the students. We must be subtle, but obvious enough that the Ministry will believe what we want them to believe. Unfortunately, when we do meet in private, you will be required to show submission to me. I wish it could be otherwise, but it is a component of the spell. You will just have to learn to accept that, as will I. "Finally, as long as you choose to remain under this bond, you will stand by your word to protect Harry Potter. I leave it to you whether you wish to keep your protection of the boy a secret. Should you at any stage decide without my permission that you no longer wish to fulfil this condition, I'm afraid I will not be able to further protect you and will have to ask you to break the bond, or I will do so myself. Do you agree to these terms?" Severus nods slightly in recognition of the orders. He doesn't look happy (of course, he never does), but he says nothing out loud. His eyes convey it all. "In return, I will protect you from the Ministry and anyone else who might wish to seek retribution on you or tarnish your name. Since you are my responsibility now, I'll also make sure that your needs are met wherever reasonably possible." Severus' expression flickers at this. He doesn't nod. I wonder if he's afraid to, or if he simply doesn't think I'm telling the truth. I can hardly blame him for that. After all, the spell doesn't impose any duties upon me, not even a duty to keep my word when I give it. It is something of a surprise that he is willing to accept my terms even believing as he likely does that I will go back on the only promises I've given to him in return. It is the closest anyone has come to putting their complete and utter faith in me since my sister died and Gellert fled. Though I know I won't deserve his complete trust even if he eventually gives it, it's a nice illusion with which to comfort myself.
After the many years he has spent at my side, I must admit that I trust Severus implicitly. Why shouldn't I, after all? He is obliged to do exactly as I order. He can't betray me even if he wants to.
I don't think he wants to, either. He no longer kneels, but rather curls at my feet, and easily accepts the feel of my hand carding through his too-slick hair. It's still strange to see him like that, but I have grown, if not used to it, then at least content with it. I try to pretend that he's not imagining, as he settles at my feet, that I'm someone else entirely.
He still shares my bed. He shares most everything, if I'm to be entirely honest.
It's a heady feeling, having someone that close to me.
I don't think that I could bring myself to tell a soul that it is due to this enforced closeness that I can trust him no matter what. The thought of making the bond public knowledge is certainly not an appetising one.
I've seen the way the few Ministry officials who have been notified of the bond look at me for invoking it. It's archaic, they think, and it's cruel to administer it upon anyone, even a 'scumbag Death Eater'. They only care that it is Severus' choice whether or not to could end it at any time in that they would prefer him to do so. His free will does not relieve my guilt, in their minds.
We have that in common.
To them, though, it seems a better alternative that Severus joins his old comrades in prison now rather than having the threat of it looming over him and keeping him from ending the spell. They think that what he has agreed to is worse than death, for such a proud man.
Perhaps it is. The fact that he chooses it anyway makes it impossible for me not to trust his motivations even apart from the spell's influence over him.
I can only imagine that if the world at large knew why I trusted Severus so much – if they knew what was between Severus and I, and how it had come about – it might well be me in whom they can't see any reason to trust.
Severus and I are polar opposites even as we are the same. He has every appearance of dishonesty and darkness, but in secret he is loyal (though generally only to himself and a select few others that he deems worthy), brave and even sometimes brutally honest (a strange trait for a spy, certainly), at least when he has opportunity to be so without risking his life. I, on the other hand, am perhaps the outward epitome of light and justice, but I can no more be trusted than the slipperiest snake.
People will know my half of that assessment before much longer, I think.
I must make one last order to Severus under the bond, and that will be the one that ends it. My secrets are not so well hidden that they will die with me. I suspect they will be the fruit of many a prospective journalist or author digging into my past.
Luckily, by then, it will matter little to me. I only hope that it will somehow benefit Severus, who is the only legacy I will leave behind in this world beyond the impact I hope my efforts to finally defeat Tom may have.
My spy. My bonded. My lover. My murderer.
We have spent fifteen long years together in this bond, and almost as long together in every sense of the word. In the end, he is everything to me, outstripping everything but my need to finally redeem myself just a little by achieving my long thought-out plans. Thoughts of Gellert seem to have disappeared from my mind. Finally.
It's a pity, then, that he does not quite share the sentiment. He never quite stopped expecting – hoping – to see himself reflected in green eyes rather than blue.
I don't blame him for that, really, even though my jealousy sporadically forces me to prove to him that it's me he's with. I knew coming into this relationship that I could never expect more, after all. I didn't think then that I would ever want more.
It's poetic justice that he will undoubtedly be able to live with my death better than he ever lived with hers, even when mine will be by his own hand.
It is as it should be, really. It's as I always expected it would be.
I trust Severus Snape with my life.
I trust Severus Snape with my death.
And, despite myself, I have even trusted him with my heart.
I'll blame myself when he inevitably breaks it. Not him. Never him. Not anymore.
~FIN~