Severus sat on the couch staring into space for a long time. His wand lay on the floor by his feet where he had dropped it. He could hear the warning bells go off that signaled that Harry had left the property. He knew he should go after the boy and compel him to come back but he didn't move.
I've failed you, Lilly.
Severus was not a stranger when it came to remorse. It was, however, his least favorite emotion. And he felt it now. Remorse and guilt, the knowledge that he could have and should have done things differently, that the outcome would be different if only he had acted in another way. It was his life's motto, his own personal story.
Glued in his mind was the images of the boy standing before him with tears in his terror-filled eyes, his mouth open as he gasped in pain. Images of the boy's shocked face when he began to cum. Images of him falling forward into Severus' lap with his feet still stuck to the ground, unable to stand any longer.
He didn't know the boy's body would react in that way. It shocked Severus as much as it had shocked Harry. Yet he had meant to humiliate Harry. He had meant to hurt him. Not that much, though. But why would Harry believe that? The boy had never trusted him, and now he never would. It was too late. No matter how many times he saved the boy's life the boy would never thank him for it. Remorse.
The truth was, he had liked hurting Harry. He liked the boy afraid of him, begging him to stop. He had felt like he was getting justice over James. Harry could have been his son, after all. He should have been his son. How fitting that he would get guardianship over his enemy's child. When he punished Harry, he was getting revenge on a dead man. He had been glad when the boy had cried in front of him, utterly broken.
And he knew that Harry had known it too. Harry knew Severus had liked it. He had seen it in the boy's haunted eyes. He had heard it in his voice when he had pleaded for him to stop. He couldn't say, "I didn't mean it," because he had meant it, even if he hadn't meant all of it. He had been much too harsh on the boy, and he only now realized it. Instead of helping Harry adjust his negative behavior he had become another problem in the boy's life.
I am no different than James. I am no different from my father, whom I swore I would never be like. I have failed myself, too. I swore I would never be like them. I have become everything I have despised the most. I have failed.
He covered his eyes with the palms of his hands and took in deep, ragged breaths, his mind whirling.
Lily, dear Lily, I am sorry.
Harry ran away. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care.
Tears dripped down his face as he ran, but he didn't notice them or the wretched sobs that escaped his frail body. His groin really hurt with every step, but he hardly noticed. The pain was like background static. He just needed to get away.
He was running down a path in the forest that surrounded Snape's manner. His one goal was to get as far away as possible.
A tree root jutting across his path went unnoticed from his blurry tear-stained vision. His foot caught it and he went flying forward, falling on his side and skidding a few feet in the dirt. He lay there where he fell. His heart was beating so fast and loud it sounded like an orchestra in his ears, and his chest was heaving with his sobs.
He curled up on his side in the dirt, his thoughts whirling.
"Please stop!" he had begged, but Severus didn't stop. His body had reacted anyway, betraying him, proving his freakishness. And Severus had enjoyed it, too.
It was just like with Jack. He had wanted sex, but when it came to changing his mind, Jack didn't care. Jack only cared about his own enjoyment.
Maybe this is the only thing my body is good for, being treated roughly.
If my own father was alive, would he have treated me in the same way? Maybe I do not deserve gentleness. Maybe-
Harry let his thoughts run wild for a while as he lay down in the silence of the forest. He didn't like to cry generally, but at the moment he couldn't care less. It felt good to cry. It made him feel empty and drained, but even that was a relief.
After a bit he sat up and began to assess his injuries. He was covered with dirt on one half of his body, and he had scrapes on his left arm and knee. He must have hit a rock or something when he fell because his ribs hurt. Whatever.
He hesitated, then slid off his pants. He had welts on his balls. It hurt to move much. But most of the cum had dried, luckily. Gross. He threw his boxers into the woods. He didn't want them anymore.
He began down the path again, walking this time.
So far Snape hadn't appeared to take him back. Maybe the man had given up on him. Maybe he was so disgusted with Harry's bodily reaction that he didn't want to ever lay eyes on him ever again.
He didn't care. He'd rather face a party of dementors than the greasy git.
The trees began to clear ahead, revealing a regular muggle town. Harry began to walk down the road. He hadn't put shoes on in his hurried escape, and the asphalt was hot underfoot, but he didn't mind. It felt good, in a way. It felt free. He stuck his hands in the pocket of his jeans and tried his best not to limp at all.
There was a grocery store ahead. Harry walked up the automatic doors eagerly, thinking that booze was just the thing he needed. He halted when the doors swung open and cursed under his breath. He had forgotten his fake ID! And he had no money either. If only he had his invisibility cloak, he could go in and snuff some with no one the wiser. But he had nothing.
Shoulders sinking, he began walking back up to the road. A young man who looked to be in his early twenties was walking by. Harry stopped him before thinking it through.
The man looked at Harry, eyebrows raised. "What is it?"
"Um, I was wondering, uh, would you buy me a drink? Maybe a six-pack of beer? I-I don't have money, though. I could… I could blow you though? Yeah. I'm good at it. Just get me something I can get really wasted on."
The man looked Harry up and down, his face twisting together in a look of disgust.
Harry blushed. He had forgotten how he must look, covered in dirt and scrapes and with no shoes on. The guy probably thought he was homeless.
"I don't want your STD-filled mouth anywhere near me." The man walked quickly past him.
Well then. "Your loss!" shouted Harry, trying to sound offended. He wasn't. He had expected it. It was worth a try, anyway. It wasn't like he had anything to lose.
Harry laid down on a piece of manicured lawn outside of the grocery store and shut his eyes. The sun felt like a warm blanket. He let himself drift off, refusing to care about anything.
He was nearly asleep when something very cold touched his forehead. He yelped and sat up. The man from before was standing over him, a bottle in his outstretched hand.
"That's… for me?" gasped Harry. "So you're taking me up on my offer?"
"Hell no," the man scoffed. "You just look like you can use the drink. This should get you properly shit-faced, so please don't drink in public where the cops can catch your young-ass."
Harry swallowed, not knowing how to deal with the unexpected kindness. He took the alcohol bottle in his hands. It was cold.
"Thank you," he whispered.
The man turned to walk back to his car. "After this, find other ways to deal with your emotions other than unsafe sex with strangers and underage binge drinking though, got it?"
Harry mutely nodded.