"On your knees, slut!"
The pretty brunette trembled as she slid to the floor, her smooth bare skin covered in goosebumps. It was a little chilly in the Malfoy Manner, and her Master's cold voice did nothing to help.
Lucius unzipped himself quickly. "Suck it," he barked off-handedly, in an almost disinterested tone. Using his slave for his pleasure, even in company, was nothing unusual.
"That's a nice little Mudblood you got there, Lucius," Avery's eyes bore hungrily into the girl's head, popping up an down in Malfoy's lap. He then took a slow swig of his firewhiskey.
Severus looked away, focusing his gaze on a dark, empty corner, attempting to clear his mind and level his breathing. He was feeling sick. And he was well aware of the fact that vomiting on the spot would not be to his advantage.
Sometimes he wondered if it was really necessary, all of it. Attending the Death Eater meetings was bad enough; did he really have to also show up to these "guy night" of cruel, drunken debauchery?
He knew the answer all too well. It was on nights such as this, when his "colleagues" were most at ease, that they revealed the most crucial information. Being a confidant of the Dark Lord was extremely useful – but it was being equally in favor with Voldemort's followers that made Severus a truly amazing spy. You have to know them to beat them.
And so know them he did. No matter how ardently he hated all that he knew of them.
"Ey, Severus!"
Snape scowled, turning to the man who ruined his attempt at distancing himself from the grotesque scene unfolding at Malfoy's armchair. It was Mulciber; trust him to always know how to interfere.
"Severus, I haven't seen you with any sluts lately. I heard the Dark Lord offered you a few Mudblood slaves, how come you haven't taken any?"
Severus swallowed hard.
They would never understand. How could they? The mere idea of using a woman – any woman – for my pleasure is distasteful. There is only one woman I love, and I would far rather kneel before her than subject her to my command.
"I haven't seen any that I liked. I have standards, Mulciber," he answered disinterestedly, taking a long, languid sip of his drink for emphasis. "Wouldn't want to soil myself with filthy whores, anyway."
That seemed to have appeased them enough to be left alone again, observing. After all, close observation was all he was there for.
On his walk home that night, Severus wondered what it was that had made him so different from those beasts he had spent the last three hours with. Where they wanted power, he craved submission.
But no, that was not quite right. It was not unqualified submission that he sought.
He had never enjoyed submitting to his father. He abhorred the man for his beatings and taunts. Never would he willingly submit to him again.
And he most certainly had no desire to submit to James Potter's bullying. The hexes, the humiliation, the pain – none of it held the least appeal.
And above all, he despised submitting to the Dark Lord. No release was found in his crucio's. The man – if he could even be called such, that monster – utterly repulsed him.
So what was different about her, then? That after eight years and two months of not seeing her – which made eight years and ten months of not having spoken to her – he still dreamed of belonging to only her.
I loved her from the first moment I saw her. And almost from the beginning, I submitted to her, willingly, completely. Without thought. Not even knowing what submission meant.
Perhaps it was the way she looked at him – kindly, sweetly, with concern not malice. Where submitting to his father meant pain, submitting to her made him feel taken care of.
That's right, that's it: she cared.
He never felt as at home, as at peace, as when he followed her lead. He knew that she would never harm him, that in her hands he would be better off. Submitting to her was, at the start, an escape from the others' abuse. And it then grew into something more – almost a necessity of life.
Severus winced as he recalled her last command. How that time she had hurt him.
But with years, he had come to understand her better. She had not meant to hurt him. She was merely afraid to acknowledge what he had known all along: that in their unlikely relationship, she was the dominant and he – the submissive.
It had been obvious all along, really. The way she had always told him off, directed him, corrected him. Every conversation they had about his interest in the Dark Arts and his friends was the same push-and-pull game. Lily correcting him, and Severus relishing the care she showed through her scolding. It felt so very wonderful: to have somebody exert that much effort trying to make him be good.
I wonder: did she ever know that I never disagreed with her at all? That I only continued to argue so that she would continue to tell me off? That I craved nothing more than her attention, however she chose to bestow it?
No, she probably didn't know. She was innocent and naïve. And only when he came in her hand, and asked her to spank him for it, did she see the dynamic of their relationship for what it truly was.
And she got scared.
Severus smirked at the thought. His fearless Lily – scared.
Yet was it truly all that surprising? She held such an unnaturally stark opposition to all that was even remotely dark, that finding "darkness" in her own disposition understandably perturbed her.
Or maybe, he was just wrong all along. Maybe, she never felt that same connection, that subtle power exchange. Maybe her rejection was truly in earnest.
Another few months passed bleakly by, distinguished by nothing but a few battles against the aurors, and several unsuccessful attacks, surreptitiously thwarted by Severus. It made him feel remotely useful. Not the praise from Dumbledore (he had grown apathetic to the Headmaster long ago, viewing him as nothing more than a necessary ally in the war), but the occasional glimpses of Muggleborn faces, especially women, alive and well, and not forced to suck Malfoy's cock.
The attack that night was not unsuccessful. Quite on the contrary. A well-staged victory, which could not have been prevented, and was instead framed as his personal accomplishment as a budding Death Eater. Severus hated those. But they were as necessary as everything else: if he was to remain in the Dark Lord's confidence, he had to appear to deliver.
He stood behind Voldemort, motionless. The dark, drafty hall felt eerie and fittingly menacing. A large, heavy wooden table was set in the middle, laden with food: ready for the celebratory feast about to ensue.
In front of the table stood half a dozen young women, nude and bound. The ghastly expressions on heir faces betrayed their terror.
"Severus," came Voldemort's commanding voice. "You have done very well this time – without you, we would not have completed the attack. As you know, I reward exceptional service with exceptional generosity. To start with, take your pick of these Mudblood sluts."
Severus cringed. It was not the first time he was offered a woman. At first it was easy enough to refuse – after all, he could well have not liked anything in the first or second selection. But now it became increasingly difficult to justify his reticence.
Indeed, a response of 'I am saving myself for the woman to whom I belong' would hardly be welcomed.
Oh come on! Now is that the time to be sarcastic, Severus.
"I thank you, my Lord," He came to stand before Voldemort now, and bowed deeply. He then made a pretense of studying the offered women. "But I am afraid none of these whores strike my fancy."
Voldemort frowned. "Nothing pleases you this time either, Severus? I understand that these are nothing but filthy sluts, but they make adequate slaves, surely. Even Mudbloods can have pleasing figures and pretty faces. Their inner worthlessness does not make them any less capable of kneeling or sucking your cock."
"Nonetheless, I prefer not to dirty myself with such women."
Voldemort was silent, studying Severus for a full minute. Snape was confident in his Occlumency, but the Dark Lord's penetrating stare still made him uneasy. So he was almost relieved when Voldemort spoke again:
"I have been told that you do not have any pureblood dalliances either, Severus Snape. A man cannot function to his full potential, if his base needs are not satisfied. I insist that you take a woman... unless you swing the other way, perhaps?"
Severus shuddered. "No, of course not, never sir."
"Good. You know how I feel about those... freaks." There was a warning chill in Voldemort's tone, and Snape knew that he was almost lost.
"I assure you, sir, that I share your feelings. Any man with such unnatural preference is no better than a Muggle. And I am certainly attracted women myself." He took a deep breath, and proceeded to say what he knew needed to be said: "In fact, I must admit that there is one Mudblood" – Severus inwardly cringed, and reminded himself mentally to punish himself later for that word – "that I wouldn't mind to, erm, shag."He hated himself for saying that, no matter how necessary it was. But what else could he say? To love, to serve, to worship?
Voldemort arched an eyebrow in an invitation for his servant to elaborate.
"Lily Evans Potter," Severus stated in a calm, level tone, surprising himself with his outer self-control. Inside, he was going insane.
"Say, isn't that the girl you fancied at Hogwards?" Avery always had a knack for making things difficult.
"Yeah, for a while you two were practically inseparable!" Someone else supplied – Severus could not immediately recognize the voice.
"Is that true?" Voldemort inquired, his voice as hard as stone. "Do you love the Mudblood?"
Severus shook his head vigorously. "No, my Lord, never. I admit to having been infatuated with her for a time as a child – she really is a pretty little whore. But nothing beyond the physical attraction, I assure you. Still, it would be nice to finally get my way with her."
Severus suppressed the urge to vomit at such blatant lies passing through his lips. He felt filthy, more unworthy than usual. Still, there was nothing he could do at present. Later, in the sanctuary of his own home, he would be sure to punish himself for this transgression as well.
That's an extra twenty lashes with the whip.
For now, he satisfied himself with the thought that perhaps this was all for the better. Lily was far away, hidden safely in France – ever since the prophecy, Dumbledore had placed both the Potters and the Longbottoms in hiding, and it was deemed safer for them to leave the country. Still, even though Severus was fairly certain that Voldemort knew nothing about the prophecy, there was yet some slim chance that he might one day find the Potters. In that event, it would be better if Lily were not to be killed.
Hit by sudden inspiration, he proceeded:
"But if my memory of that woman serves me right, my Lord, she would not make a willing slave. She was rash and exceedingly proud – sorted into Gryffindor for darn good reason. I think she'd rather kill herself than live in slavery. Unless... unless we face her with an alternative worse than death."
He finished darkly and solemnly, and the Hall went quiet in anticipation of what he meant.
"Is the Mudblood whore afraid of torture?" Voldemort asked with a smirk.
"No, that is not what I meant. Rather... When spying on Dumbledore, I heard she has a child, recently born. I believe that if we threaten her with the life of her child, she would have no choice but to comply."
This way, Harry will also be safe, if Voldemort ever does run into the Potters!
"Are you suggesting that we take her child, and keep it alive, locked away, so long as she submits to you?"
"Precisely." After a brief pause, Severus hurried to add: "But of course, that's probably far too excessive for just one little Mudblood. Truly, I am sure I will find others that strike my fancy soon enough."
Voldemort regarded him thoughtfully for a full minute. "No, Severus, if Lily Evans Potter is what you want, then Lily Evans Potter is what you'll get. I reward my good servants well. Besides, another faithful follower, who has managed to ingratiate himself with the aurors – and whose identity I shall not yet reveal – has recently mentioned something about those Potters... Dumbledore has them installed in hiding in France. Must be some good reason why he wants them safe. I can't imagine it's the Mudblood or the child that pose any danger. Most likely the husband – James Potter, from a solid pureblood family." Voldemort then turned to Malfoy and Avery: "Say, boys, why don't we round up a couple others, and pay those Potters a visit, eh?"
A mortifying chill passed down Severus's spine.
Oh Merlin, what have I done?
They were about to go after Lily. The Death Eaters were about to attack the Potters. And it was all his fault.
He did not notice several Death Eaters getting ready, joking casually about the attack. There was a loud buzz in his ears, and a haze in his eyes. He could barely stand.
What have I done?
Voldemort turned to Severus one last time before apparating away: "You shall have your little whore within an hour, Severus."
And the next second – he was gone.
Mumbling some form of excuse, Severus hurriedly apparated back to his house.
Not losing a moment, he sent a message to Dumbledore.
"Attack on Potters NOW. Send help immediately."
He prayed rather than hoped that he was not too late. He wished desperately that he could go fight the attack himself, but knew that that would be the height of imbecility. If Voldemort saw Severus's love for what it truly was, he would never spare Lily. They would both be dead. As long as he stays away, at least Lily and Harry would both be captured alive.
What have I done?
Still shaking violently from the recent shock, Severus resorted to the surest way of stress relief he possessed.
Stripping his clothes and grabbing the leather whip, he struck methodically against his bare buttocks.
Twenty lashes for calling Lily a Mudblood.
Another twenty for the grotesque lies he told about his feelings for her.
And fifty lashings for causing, however inadvertently, this whole mess to occur.
No, make it sixty, to make an even hundred combined.
Once finished, he closed his eyes for a few seconds, relishing the feeling of pulsating soreness in his raw flesh. It was not much of a catharsis, but it was something.
As he opened his eyes again, they fell on the other part of him that was, at present, pulsating. Severus scowled at his own arousal.
Stupid boy! Never did learn how to control yourself, did you? A mere spanking, combined with some faint thought of her – and your cock is all up and throbbing?
His gaze lingered on the little hairs surrounding the base of his erection. It had been several days since he had last shaved. He debated briefly whether to do it now. But no, he did not have enough time. Voldemort promised to be back within an hour, and it would not do if he found Severus missing upon his return.
Yes, the shaving would have to be postponed to later. But not by too much – these despicable little hairs had no place around his cock – her cock, the one that had always belonged only to her.
Severus smiled ruefully. Ever since she had displayed her displeasure at the mess of pubic hair he used to have at fifteen, he had been careful to groom himself at least every few days. Often, while sliding the razor gently up and down, he would close his eyes and imagine that he was doing it at her request, following her command. He knew, of course he knew, that she did not want his submission. She had explicitly stated as much. But whether she wanted it or not, he would always give it to her. In that one thing, he was unfailingly willing to disobey her.
