A Christmas Curse
Severus would have sworn, even on his poor mother's grave, he honestly did not know how he ended up in this horrible predicament. For a few minutes - or so it seemed, it could have been seconds as well - he could only stare and try to make sense of what he was seeing. He vaguely remembered paying a visit to the library earlier that evening, where he'd gotten lost in a book about healing potions used within the goblin community. He'd been thinking about giving the eight-year students a lecture about that topic after the Christmas holidays, since they were already covering healing potions in general anyway, and it wouldn't hurt to broaden their horizon just a bit. He'd been reading and taking extensive notes, the way he always did when preparing lessons, and had forgotten about his surroundings completely.
He remembered the exact moment he'd looked at the library clock, taking note that it read half past midnight already and thinking it might be time to retire to his quarters and get a good night's rest. He supposed he could even sleep in; there were no classes to teach the next morning. No obligations whatsoever, in fact, besides brewing Poppy a new batch of Cough Potion to be prepared when the student body came back after the Christmas holidays. He allowed himself a few seconds to feel content about the prospect of finally having time on his hands again, contrary to the last few weeks that had been nothing but hectic. Then the moment passed and he studied the book in front of him again, frowning as he tried to recapture the train of thought he'd had right before he got distracted. And then… nothing. One moment he'd been awake and aware, and the next it felt as if he'd been switched off like a television.
When he woke again, or became conscious, or whatever it could be called, the first thing he was aware of was that the back of his head throbbed slowly and that his mouth felt dry. He assessed the situation briefly and decided his headache wasn't really that bad and any discomfort would probably be solved instantly if he got his hands on a large glass of water. His eyelids felt heavy too and he vaguely wondered why that was. Barely awake, he was nonetheless aware of the fact that he was deadly tired, and that his thoughts came in sluggish waves. But he didn't have an immediate reason to panic, he reasoned, because he was warm and comfortable and obviously lying on a mattress, so since there was apparently nothing to worry about, he let it go for the moment. Then the inevitable question slowly wormed itself through his clouded brain: Why was he lying on a mattress in the first place when he had a perfectly good bed in his quarters? The next moment he recognized the creaking sound the bed made, and realized that he was, in fact, lying in his very own bed. How strange. How did he end up here? He couldn't remember having left the library…
And just like that, it was like the television was switched back on, and several realizations came to him all at once. He wasn't alone. There was somebody lying next to him. In fact, pressed firmly against his front, to be honest, and Severus didn't want to think about why he was spooning a naked man, because that was apparently what he was doing. This situation was, without a doubt, on the wrong side of strange.
Severus tried to wriggle his fingers. It seemed like they were stuck and they felt awkwardly stiff, like they'd been trapped for a while already. They were warm, and moist, and despite everything, Severus couldn't help but admit it wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling, but then he wondered where…
He jerked upright in panic, only to be greeted by an image that confirmed his very worst fears. Something ice cold, like a small snowball, melted in his stomach and Severus felt like he would be sick. Because there was indeed a stark naked man in his bed and that was bad, extremely so, because, oh Merlin, oh no, he would have recognized that tousled brown mane out of a crowd of hundred. Potter. It was Potter. The boy was fast asleep in his bed and he had no idea why, and if Severus could have denied it, he would have, vehemently. But he couldn't, because the evidence was right there in front of him. There were four, he counted. Four of his blasted, blasted fingers. Somehow wedged appallingly deep inside the Boy Who Slept Through It as if absolutely nothing was happening.
SS
Severus blinked. Severus swallowed.
"Crap…" he muttered, "Oh fuck."
How in Merlin's name had he ended up here? Had cruel fate relocated him to some twisted parallel universe? Because Severus knew that in his world, things like these simply didn't happen. There would be no reason at all for Harry Potter to be in his bed. None at all. Except that, Severus had to admit, well…he was. So there had to be a reason. But Severus stared, and he couldn't find any.
He pulled his fingers out, trying to be quick about it and absolutely not paying attention to the disgustingly slick sound it made. He looked at his moist fingers, feeling utterly bewildered. Four of his fingers. Why on earth did they have to be his? Because Severus had been quite sure that Potter, even now the war was over, still held a fierce grudge towards him. So what in the world was wrong with the boy?
Severus let his eyes wander around the room, trying to find something that would make sense of the situation. The small lamp on his bedside table cast a subdued light, enough to be able to discern what was directly around him, and he spotted two wands on his nightstand. One of them he recognized as his own. The other must be Potter's.
He reached for it, leaning over Potter's back. Severus was careful not to jostle him, because the last thing he needed right now was for Potter to wake up. He retrieved his wand and examined it closely first. It was only after a full minute that he was positive his wand hadn't been tampered with. He pointed it at his fingers, then blinked. There was a fine thread of blood going from the top of his finger to the first knuckle. Severus lowered his wand. Unthinkingly he brought his hand to his nose, and sniffed. A mixture of fresh sweat, vanilla scented oil and clean arse filled his nostrils. His eyes darted to the boy, who was sleeping innocently on his side. He kept looking, eyes glued to the relaxed face, and for the first time Severus felt concerned for the boys' health. He looked like he was in no danger, but that was just an assumption. A quickly muttered spell had Severus' hand instantly cleaned, and with a second one Severus healed any internal wounds Potter might have had. Just to be sure, Severus told himself.
Very, very slowly and heedful he tugged at the boy's shoulder, until he was lying on his back. There was a moment when Potter moved his arm and made a discontented noise and Severus held his breath. He didn't dare move until he was absolutely sure that Potter had relaxed again and wasn't about to wake up. Only then did he allow his gaze to wander away from his face and he took the opportunity to look at the boy more closely. He shouldn't have been surprised, given what he'd already seen, but the mere sight of the boy still came as a small shock.
Potter's chest was drenched in semen. Not a few drops, no, but rope after rope crisscrossed his torso. Severus groaned and closed his eyes. That definitely wasn't from one orgasm, and probably not even from one person. One simple spell confirmed to Severus what he already knew: the pearly necklace was his. He curled his hand in a frustrated fist. What on earth had that deranged boy been thinking?
While he was mulling that question over in a daze, suddenly a familiar scent reached his nostrils. He looked at Potter's face, his nose, his mouth. Then he leaned forward and inhaled intently. He knew that smell inside and out and he could only come to one conclusion: Potter was dead-drunk. It took a potions master's nose to spot wodka on someone's breath, but then again, Severus' lousy father had taught him well in the past.
The alcohol was sure to be a part of the explanation of why Potter had antagonized his teacher in such a drastic manner. It wasn't difficult to imagine that the war had taken its toll on Potter. The deaths of his two best friends at the hands of Bellatrix and Fenrir were sure to haunt his dreams for a very long time. If drinking wodka helped Potter to keep the dark memories at bay, who was he to judge him? Didn't he have his own demons to fight? Well, he did, but on the other hand, this… Severus' eyes roamed disconcertedly over Potter's body… This was a whole new level of coping.
Severus again leaned forward and picked the other wand from his bedside table. He realized he wasn't so scared anymore that Potter would wake up. If he did, it would be merely very awkward. Potter would no doubt apologize profusely and they would avoid looking at each other for the remainder of the year. And after that, Potter would leave Hogwarts to find a job and they'd never have to lay eyes on each other again. End of story.
Severus wasn't sure what his plan was with Potter's wand, until he realized he should check the last spell Potter had cast with it. It was stupid of him not to think of that earlier, Severus recognized. Of course Potter had put him under some sort of enchantment. A Confundus Charm most likely.
'Prior Incantato,' Severus whispered.
Potter's wand tip glowed lilac for a second and Severus heard the answer inside his head.
Imperio.
Severus frowned. No, that couldn't be. Potter wouldn't have used an Unforgivable on him. He pointed his wand again.
'Prior Incantato," he said for the second time.
It was of no use. He only got a confirmation that Potter had indeed Imperiused him.
Severus' hand dropped onto the bed and he clenched his teeth, trying to keep the anger that was welling up at bay. Potter had used an Unforgivable on him. He had cast one of the three curses. Severus tried to convince himself that Imperius and Confundo were actually more or less the same if you didn't look too closely, but even while he was thinking it, his hand was already balling into a fist.
He tried fruitlessly not to think of the war, and how often he had suffered at the hands of Voldemort. He had been one of the lucky. Voldemort chose his victims and his curses with care. The Cruciatus Curse had hit him only once, but he would never again forget it. Others hadn't been so fortunate. He'd seen Voldemort send a woman under the Imperius Curse back into her burning house and she hadn't even screamed. All those people, all those green jets of death. There had been countless victims that Severus hadn't been able to help. And now, out of all spells, Potter chose to use that wretched curse? It didn't matter how drunk he was, he had crossed a line.
Severus got out of bed and wrapped his bathrobe around him. He was done with this. He had kept Potter alive time and time again, and he got rewarded with this sort of perverted abuse? He would make sure it would be the very last time.
He quickly picked up Potter's clothes from the ground and took Potter's wand in his other hand.
"Levicorpus," he muttered, and Potter's sleeping form floated calmly up from the bed. He opened the door and levitated Potter out of his room, into the drafty hallway. He carefully lowered Potter until he was about three inches parallel with the ground and then dropped him unceremoniously. His head hit the floor with a satisfyingly loud thunk and Severus watched as Potter jerked awake.
"No, wait," he uttered, panicked, "What…?"
Potter saw him standing in the doorway right then, and the confusion in his eyes quickly made room for dawning comprehension. He looked terrified, Severus noticed, and he suspected the goosebumps on Potter's arms weren't only there because of the cold.
"You will never do that to me again, or I will curse your balls off," Severus threatened and Potter scrambled back in genuine fear. His eyes were starting to shine suspiciously – no doubt the boy felt humiliated to the bone. Well, it served him right.
Severus realized he didn't want to deal with him a moment longer. He was truly done with Potter, once and for all, and he should be grateful for it. He threw Potter's clothes out of the door and Potter immediately tried to cover himself. At last he tossed him his wand. The boy didn't even attempt to catch it. He was wide-eyed and shaking with terror.
"S…Sorry," he stuttered.
"I have no use for that," Severus replied, "Don't come back here."
Severus threw the door shut in his face, leaned against the wall and rubbed his temples. He sighed. This was going to be a long Christmas holiday, he knew. He walked over to his cabinet. He was in desperate need of a drink.
