Strange Relationships

Following applies to all chapters.

Disclaimer – Not my characters, otherwise would not be under Fan Fiction, no?

Rating – R, right from the start

Pairing – SS/HP

Warnings – slash, graphic rape/non-con, violence, Sirius Black bashing!

Genre – hurt/comfort, angst

Summary – Sirius Black is not a nice man, but Harry doesn't figure that out until it's too late.

Mia - Okay, my angst muses got a little outta control here, and decided that poor Harry and Sev needed yet another obstacle to overcome.  But since they are Harry and Sev, I forgive them.

Severus – How kind.  One would almost think your altruism was an inherent characteristic.

Harry – Shut up and get on with the story – they want to see whether it's worth reading or not.

Severus – Oh, no need, I can honestly say now that it is not.

Mia *sulks in corner*

Harry – Now look what you've done!  Just tell them what the chapter's called.

Severus – Fine.  Chapter one – Black Deeds.

1.

Sirius Black wasn't a nice man – how could he have been after all those years in Azkaban?

What made him dangerous, though, was that he knew how to hide it.  He knew, that is, until the day that his anger took over and he let the world know that maybe, once, he had been innocent, but he certainly hadn't stayed that way.  From his third year and the offer of a home, Harry had trusted him implicitly and so did his two closest friends, and that turned out to be a great mistake.

Sirius was padding around Hogwarts castle as Snuffles.  Something strange compelled him down into the lower levels of the castle, and just as he turned a corner he saw his godson and Snape standing, talking.

He stopped and watched from the shadows.  Since they had all worked together to defeat Voldemort, that wasn't all that unusual – many times even he had had to talk to Snape.  Sirius, however, watched all the things that were wrong with this scene.  One – *his Harry [A/N *Sirius is mentally unbalanced and believes that Harry belongs to him because he is his godfather] was talking to, not sniping at, Snape.  Two – Snape was talking to, not sniping at, his Harry.  Three – They were alone and neither seemed to mind.  Four – Snape had just reached out a hand and stroked his Harry's cheek gently, and his Harry had leaned into the touch, smiling.

Sirius felt his blood boil, but he wasn't, as one might suspect, angry with Snape.  No, he was angry with his Harry.  His Harry was his godson.  James had given his son to him – he had named him responsible for his Harry.  His Harry was supposed to be his and only his.  And now his Harry was snuggling up to his nemesis without thought for how it would make him feel.

His eyes narrowed and he padded a little closer, using his sensitive canine ears pick up the conversation without having to alert the two to his presence.

"…See Dumbledore then.  I'm going to Hagrid's now, though – he asked me to promise to feed Fang while he was away.  I'll see you tonight, Sev?"

"Tonight, Harry.  Goodbye."

"Bye, Sev.  Love you."

And then they had kissed, rather passionately, and Sirius had seen red.  He waited until Snape had gone into his office, reiterating his Harry's expression of love, and then followed his godson up out of the dungeons and into the school grounds.  He waited until his Harry was opening the door to the little wooden hut and then pounced on him.

Harry smiled and shook him off to close the door, but as soon as he had and turned around to say "Sirius!" with a happy little smile on his face, Sirius as Snuffles pounced again, violently, knocking Harry's head off the door and using his muscles and weight to keep Harry down.

"Sirius?  What…Sirius, you're hurting me – get off!"

Harry now looked incredibly scared and his voice was getting shriller.

"Sirius, get off!  Stop it!  Sirius, stop-!  You're hurting me!"

Positioning his limbs, Sirius turned back to his human form and Harry found himself being held down, arms pinned above his head in one hand and legs numbing from Sirius' dead weight.  He struggled but couldn't get loose – pure adrenaline and rage was coursing through the older man's veins, giving him more strength than usual.

"I'm hurting you?  Hah!  What do you think you're doing to me, running around with Snape?" he spat out.

Harry's eyes widened.

"That's right, I saw you!  You think you can love someone else?  You think I'll let you go to someone else?  You're mine!  Your father gave you to me incase something happened to him, and something did, so you're mine, and you aren't allowed to be anyone else's."

And then Sirius had ripped at Harry's shirt with his free hand and stuffed a strip of material as a wad in Harry's mouth, so far that Harry felt like he was going to throw up.  He only didn't because he knew that he would choke on his own vomit.  He couldn't help but shake uncontrollably though, and he broke out in a cold sweat as Sirius ripped another strip off his shirt and tied his hands together with it.  His arms had been twisted together in a way that was not only painful, but that made it impossible to move them.  He struggled to breathe through his nose as Sirius pulled his jeans and underwear down and off and then threw him onto his stomach roughly, and his skin crawled uncomfortably.  As Sirius pushed one finger up into him in a mockery of care for Harry's well being, Harry's mind blanked.

He was aware of everything – hyper sensitive, truth be told – and all the sensation was blocking off any response he might have had; any thoughts that would normally have run through his brain.  So he blanked.

He was aware of the burning and pain that happened when Sirius' dry fingers bruised and grazed him inside; aware of the small scratches that the sharp fingernails made as they thrust inside him; aware of Sirius shoving himself in roughly and shouting 'mine' in a hoarse voice every time he thrust into Harry.  He was aware of the pain of the bruising grip Sirius had on his hips and the feeling of being torn in two where he didn't feel numb. He was aware that he was bleeding, both from down there and from his head.  He was aware that from outside, Fang was howling.

He was aware that the cotton from his shirt was rubbing at his wrists, tearing at the skin.  He was aware of the many fibres that came loose in his mouth and itched, begging to be removed.  He was aware of the nails in the wooden floor scraping at his bare stomach where no fabric covered it and the grain of the wood constantly scrubbing at him as he moved up and down and up and down.  He was aware that his nose was bleeding now, after having hit the floor and been dragged to and fro.

He was aware of all these things, but he hadn't a clue what they meant to him just yet.

When Sirius shouted out one last time and came, Harry felt that the liquid burnt him, and when it ran out and down his thighs as Sirius pulled out, he was aware of every cell it passed over.  Then Sirius had flipped him over, backhanded him twice and kicked him in the ribs several times as he pulled his own trousers up.

"You little slut," he whispered, "As if I would ever want you now – you're sullied; dirty and tainted.  Snape will never want you again either – no one ever will.  All you do is bring pain and misery, and everyone will leave you when they realise it until you have no one left.  And you'll deserve every bit of it, you tramp.  Your mother and father were too good for you, just like they were too good for Peter.  You're just disgusting."

He had kicked him once more and then opened the door, not bothering to move Harry out of the way, leaving a trail of blood from Harry's head and nose as he shoved the weight behind the door.  He turned once, spat on Harry and then grabbed the handle to the door.

"Complete waste of a life."

He slammed it, making the hut shake, then turned into Snuffles and ran away in the direction of the forbidden Forest; away from the crime he had committed without thinking he had committed a crime at all; only thinking that he had taken what was his to take.  He knew he wouldn't be back anywhere near Harry, but not for the reasons any other rapist might have feared to – he just honestly thought that Harry had outlived his use.

Back in the hut, Harry tried to use his tongue to push the fabric from his mouth, but to no avail – his mouth ached with the effort and the sides of his lips chaffed.  Unable even to sob in fear of his life, he let silent tears run down his face, feeling it mingle with the blood, spittle and dirt.  He lay there for a few minutes that felt like hours before passing into blessed unconsciousness.

*