Disclaimer: I don't own harry potter. I kidnapped him for a little while but he wasn't much fun. I intend to keep Severus Snape for awhile though *wink. Don't worry he'll be in a much better mood once he gets back. LOL =)
A/N: If I can figure out how to get this to save in the html code thingys, it might be a bit easier to read. It's a short story because I was trying to avoid doing a long epic. My muses tend to be lazy slackers who like to run away before I've finished with them. So I decided to avoid anything to long and ring the daylights out of my inspiration before she got away. Any writers out there who read this and like the concept and would like to expand on it and put more details and stuff on it feel free. I tend to be impatient when it comes to adding details and screw up pov's. This is a reposing and I didn't change it too much just altered the ending slightly since the first version didn't make sense. Hey you try writing at 3am and see how coherent your thoughts are.
The Journal
Severus Snape stalked the corridors on his nightly rounds in search of wayward students to punish. It was a satisfying hobby to catch the little brats, so care free and oblivious to the dangers of midnight romps and careless in their arrogance. He considered it his duty to remind them every once in a while that life wasn't fair, they can get caught because they aren't cleverer than the faculty. It is amusing to knock them down a peg or two as well.
They hated him for it which didn't bother him considering the fact that the world promised to be much crueler to them than any thing he could do. He hoped one day the things the brats had to learn to avoid getting caught by him might serve to save there necks but it was infuriating to know he'd never get even a passing thanks for his labors but then he was used to that by now. The real heroics are always done by Slytherins without thanks or acclaim, the praise always went to the stupid but brave Gryffendors but such was the way of the world. Slytherins are victims of their own cunning and people wonder why many go dark.
Just as he was backtracking his steps to return to his quarters he heard a slight movement of fabric to his left and he knew his favorite prey was close. Interesting that he should come back to the third floor corridor 6 years later. Probably reminiscing about how easy it was back then even under the same threat he is now. He tried to catch Potter but he knew well enough now how to avoid detection under the cloak until he could find a way to escape. Judging by the silence with was long enough to have made him pass out had he merely been holding his breath he had missed him again.
He was turning to leave when he decided to visit the room himself. There was nothing there now in the way of secret treasures or forbidden Order secrets but it might prove to sedate his curiosity over why Harry was there in the first place. So silently he pried the rusty door open and slipped inside.
The room had been made into a private sanctuary of sorts and he took his time looking over the shelves of books and wall of weapons. Perhaps the boy hadn't been as stupid as he first thought. Judging by the damage done to the dummy in the corner which was riddled with burns and weapons marks, little Gryffindor had finally decided to get serious and not rely on dumb luck all the time. He noticed a very simple desk over in the corner with a book open and a disturbing blood like substance specked on the pages.
His suspicions are confirmed when he noticed the razor near the top corner of the desk. Ironically enough, he didn't find it surprising since the last fiasco with the dark lord. Harry's sixth year was odd for the very reason that he'd made a conscious effort to stay out of the business of the Order only to be kidnapped by Weasley who was under imperious curse and brought to Voldemort via Draco Malfoy. When Weasley managed to fight it off they were both already captured but in a rare stroke of genius or stupidity Potter had managed to make a port key and send Weasley away.
Why Harry hadn't bothered to go with him was anyone's guess and he never did tell the truth of what happened after that even to Albus though he fell for the boy's story. His escape was more miraculous than usual considering the state he was in as he walked into the great hall, eyes glazed and bloodied beyond recognition. He didn't make it more than three meters inside the door before he fell forward dead to the world. He did nearly die but Pomfrey had managed to bring him back from the brink, thus he narrowly escaped death once again but he wasn't the same after that though no one but Severus noticed how phony the smiles had become as he left for the summer.
He felt oddly sorry for Potter, in a way, because even when he'd done everything he could to stay away from the war he got dragged into it one way or another. He had hoped that his muggle relatives would have comforted him and helped him get back to normal but when the kid, no when the man came back, he was still acting the part. In fact the only thing that even gave him away now was the dead and haunted look in his eyes.
Severus cursed the fact that he actually began to miss the brat's fire and spunk when he had been bemoaning it since day one. It seems no matter what Potter would always make him itch and worry for one reason or another. Merely existing was enough to make him slightly perturbed but he didn't stop to wonder why right then.
He returned to the book and notice it was a journal of some sort. He wanted to read the book right now but Harry might notice if it was disturbed, and that wasn't something he wanted until he could figure out how to deal with the dismal turn of events. He decided to cast a simple copy spell so he could read it through without Harry noticing. If anything needed to be done for the pampered little brat he'd just hand it over to Albus to deal with and thus wash his hands of the whole thing. The added benefit of the spell was that this version would update itself when new entries were made. Maybe the late night reading of the brat's quiet misery might serve to amuse him. It couldn't be all that bad after all.
The next night he sat in his chambers with a cup of his favorite tea, relaxing in the warmth of the fire when he remembered the journal. He returned to his desk, which was still cluttered with the pathetic attempts of coherent thought that passed as the norm from his 3 year Gryffindor and Slytherins. He liked that class only because of the pleasure he got from slashing their attempts at the assignment. He didn't need to be nice to the Slytherins in that class either because none of them had prominent death eater fathers who could get him killed which allowed him the therapeutic experience of cutting them down and pretending it was Malfoy's paper or one of his ignorant cohorts.
Returning to his chair he opened the book and read but found out too late that having tea or ingesting anything, for that matter, wasn't a good idea before reading this twisted piece of horror. It was also too much like a trip down his own memory lane for comfort.
September 3:
They think I perfectly fine which proves my suspicions that they're all just using me to get what they want. Why the hell they think I have the power to knock off Voldemort based on nothing more than the words of a fraudulent seerer, is beyond me. They probably think I have no reason to be bitter about it either. After all, surviving is supposed to be such a blessed miracle, giving hope to everyone else but they tend to forget that when you survive you have to watch and remember as other die around you. Not so much fun then, but they never think about it so it doesn't matter.
The fame means nothing to me either because it is only reminds me of the tributes the ancients used to give to their golden idols, a mere object and puppet used to protect them. They never seem to care that I might have dreams of my own that don't involve fame, glory, and destroying Dark Lords. If I do manage to get myself killed one of these days I might as well explain for prosparities' sake what happened last time I had the dubious honor of chatting with a maniac.
I had done everything in my power to be the good little boy and stay out of things I shouldn't meddle with like I was told but in the end, despite my best efforts, I got sucked into another trap. Once Ron snapped out of his curse he was blathering on about what happened and how sorry he was. Crying wasn't going to help here so I created a port key to the burrow and sent him home to mommy where he belonged. I stayed because I was sufficiently sick of being dragged in to this crap every year and was looking forward to dying and seeing Sirus again. I didn't care about the prophecy and figured the world could be screwed over just like I was but I didn't get my wish. Instead, I got a crash course in the art of misery without the sweet release of death.
I asked him why he was pissed at me when he was the idiot that forgot about blood magic, which amused him instead of pissing him off, as I had intended. He just said it's more fun to toy with his real enemies and watch them become deluded by hope before he took his revenge by ripping it away.
Voldemort told me a lot about his plans for me and the wizarding world and how easy it will be to gain victory in the resulting despair of the demise of the boy who lived. He also told me how he knew Snape was a spy and how much he enjoyed watching him suffer for precious little in the way of information. He knows that once he gets Dumbledore out of the picture he'll have his servant broken once more, eager to channel that hatred into his work.
Then he decided the chat was over and commenced with the "fun" which Lucius was more than pleased with. Thus began the raping and slicing of the naive little boy-who-lived but I didn't care because they would kill me off soon enough. Unfortunately the dark lord had other plans. He called them off once they'd had their urges satisfied and spelled me so I couldn't speak to anyone about anything that happened. Apparently I wasn't enough of a real threat to be worth killing yet.
He didn't even try to curse me to do any mass damage, just made a port key and sent the foolish child back so he could enjoy next years conversation. Ironic that the spell intended to keep me quiet was a mercy and not a punishment. I healed myself just enough so the nurse didn't notice I wasn't that pure anymore. I refuse to let anyone know that their hero was defiled that way because I couldn't stand the constant pity. I don't have a choice but to play the hero but I guess I never really did.
They don't even realize the hope they have in me was just as much a rape as what the death eaters did. A thorough mind fuck from the whole wizarding world, I am so honored. The bullshit I fed Albus was so convincing I didn't have to speak of it again. Severus just stood back smirking slightly, amused with my agony. It was a strange sort of comfort that he was the same as always. I have no doubt he heard about what happened but I'm alive so he won't report it, I'm sure.
I bet he would be pleased since he so enjoys wallowing in the misery of others. I understand why now. He doesn't know how lucky he is to have the freedom to be openly bitter but then again maybe there are advantages to people not knowing. When I've had enough and decided to die the shock will be priceless; too bad I won't see it.
I think it would the sweetest irony if I died at the hands of my muggle relatives. If it wasn't for the threat of retribution from the other "Freaks" as they so affectionately call wizards they probably would have drowned me as a baby. They would have done me a great favor if they had but no, the bloody cowards can't even go that far for revenge.
Last summer was fun enough and it's the closest they got to killing me but they chickened out before they'd finished the job and I lived yet again, oh joy. It was just as if I lived in a death eater HQ minus the crutatus but they found unique ways around that particular handicap well enough.
I find myself missing that curse since it's so much cleaner that the barbed flails and other devices they've taken to using recently. I thought the belt was bad but no they have to start getting fucking creative now. Vernon is the designated torturer when it comes to everything physical and Petunia has take on the role of mind fucker.
There're not afraid I'll say anything because they know I'll be too busy protecting the image the wizarding world needs to tell. Damn manipulative, cock sucking, hypocritical, motherfuckers! And they calm me abnormal. They don't seem to notice they've become more of a freak that I can ever hope to be. Most normal muggles put their pets to sleep when they believe they can't be controlled but no I don't even get the luxury of a common house pet.
As much as I despise Vernon, Petunia is much worse because she doesn't even have to dirty her hands with my blood to cause pain. All she does is withhold meals, keep my cupboard freezing at night and then make me stick my hands in hot water on the pretence of making me do chores in the morning. Then she bitches all day about how everything I do is wrong and what a screw up I am.
I was able to refute that crap after I got to school and they were forced to give me a room of my own for awhile but that didn't last since they are vultures when it comes to sensing weakness in me. As a result they became crueler than ever before in hopes of putting me back in my place. Petunia is a gross amateur when it comes to wizarding head games though so I usually can block most of her inane chatter out.
Wizards are experts in fucking with my head so I was able to believe for years that I could actually be loved if only in an abstract hero sort of way. I fell for it hook, line and sinker fully expecting them to leave me alone once I did my job. I'm not fool enough to believe that anymore, though. They'll just keep picking and asking for every detail and when I refuse they'll just turn their collective backs and accuse me of wanting to be the next dark lord.
Severus would be laughing his head off right now if he knew all this. I can just picture the amused smirk as he replies how stupid little Gryffindor finally bit off more than he could chew. Oddly enough I don't hate the man because despite everything at least he didn't buy into the entire "boy who lived" crap. He was the only one who didn't try to fuck with my head like that. He made it clear right from the off that he hated my fame and I find myself agreeing whole-heartedly. He doesn't seem to grasp the concept that I really never had a choice in the matter.
He only did mess with me when he wanted information for his own perverse sense of humor, or just to watch me squirm. I knew from day one that he hated my guts for whatever reason and the honesty in that is, oddly refreshing. Looking back now the memories of potions classes and getting caught wandering about are more amusing than anything and I wonder now why the man pissed me off so much back then. Oh yeah I remember now, that was back when I gave a damn and didn't know my dad was a prick. I at least have the comfort of knowing Severus is getting his revenge, one of us should.
Lately I've found I have a craving for physical pain. I think it because that, at least, is tangible and honest in the intent, with scars and blood and no hidden agendas behind it. I cut myself to alleviate the tension and it has helped me keep the act up. I am working on getting better in the art of war but I'll be damned if I let them know it. I won't let them flaunt any slight skill I might gain for moral just to have it backfire on me. Albus will have to find another boys agony to wank to. Next time the dark lord pulls me out of school for a chat I'll force him to kill me or be killed.
If I win or lose doesn't matter but if I do manage to win by another strange miracle, I'll look forward to telling the whole wizarding world to fuck off cause I'm not bending over for them anymore. However, while I'm waiting, I can have fun covertly torturing Malfoy to insanity. He thinks he's so much like his father but he'll find out soon enough where his father's talents really lie. Amazing how sending him scar vision can shake him up so much. Despite occulmency training I found I still end up seeing visions when his emotions are high.
I wonder if he's pleased to see his father through the eyes of Voldemort the way I do every night. Watching as his, oh so proud father, bends over diligently to be fucked by the other death eaters and his master in the figurative and the literal sense. They never have Severus participate anymore only cause the man found a convenient way to become impotent which is wise considering the lack of choice in attractive partners. They maybe just lulling him into a false sense of security though, considering they don't really need him to get hard for what they do. It isn't about pleasure; rather, it's about pain, humiliation if you get hard from what's being done.
Probably should warn him but he'd never believe me until it happens so I won't bother. He's probably smart enough to realize it could happen to him. Speaking of the man, I can sense him going passed the door now. He doesn't know I'm here yet but I think it's time to continue our fun little game of cat and mouse. He'll be to busy gripping the air for his favorite prey and cursing if he fails to catch me to wonder where I was.
If he does win this round he'll be too busy gloating to ask knowing full well I'll lie through my teeth if he tries, it's not like he can get into my head anymore to get what he wants. He thinks he can but I just feed him the memories he expects to find or an alteration of what he's searching for. He feels as if he's won against James and I get to keep my secrets, which serves us both. He's too intent on hating him to notice that I'm more like him than my father to care. It's odd that he's become exactly what he despised in my father but I know it's what he needs to get through the war so I won't point it out. That particular truth may drive the man crazy.
I do feel less tension after writing this all down which should help keep me going for a week or so. I wonder if in the end everyone will be pissed off when they realized I fucked with their heads too. Then again, they may be too dim to even think it was intentional. That only makes it more fun since the best mind fuck is the one when they don't realize it happened at all. I will kill Voldemort somehow but I refuse to stick around long enough for the next dark lord to rise. They'll believe it's me and shun me, then crawl back to me when the truth hits them. Perhaps I can charm Severus to kill me first and then he can suffer just as much as I do in Azkaban
.
Severus Snape shakily put down the book and dashed to the bathroom to throw up, knocking the cup over and shattering it in his haste. Merlin's Beard! How the hell the kid managed not to visibly crack up was beyond him. He'd suffered and watched more in one year that Severus did in five years as a dark lord lackey. And when had he become so much better at occulmency without anyone knowing about it? Damn him for becoming such a master at deception. The fact that he'd been so willing to believe it only proved Harry right and the shame was almost unbearable.
He had to go to the headmaster with this because despite what Harry might think he wasn't going to be pleased by all this. That he even thought Albus was getting off on his quiet agony was even more disturbing. Harry didn't even think the man's could possibly care about him in any other sense than a war banner to be used. Severus knew better but Harry couldn't really think that, could he? Then it occurred to him that because of the fame Harry was bestowed with, he'd never really know. He didn't have the benefit of knowing the headmaster before the second rise of Voldemort like he did.
The fact that the dark lord knew he was a spy didn't surprise him; it was part of the game after all. Trying to read into things for unconscious knowledge of the other side's activities and trying to keep that information away from the other without proving your real loyalty definitively is the way it works. The life of a spy was always wrought with such intrigue but he chose his path long ago when he tried to rebel against his Gryffindor protagonists. Harry never even had the illusion of choice and is literally stuck in his role.
The heart wrenching sorrow in Albus's eyes when he'd put down the book was just as painful as reading it himself. The most agonizing part was that he couldn't dispute the fact that most of it was true. The prophecy was well known by both sides by now and Voldemort knew he couldn't change the fact that he would die at Harry's hand, since he hadn't managed it yet. It was obvious what he was trying to do was to mold Harry into another Dark Lord. It was a twisted sense of revenge but brilliant none the less.
"I didn't even know his relatives were hurting him. How did I miss that when all the signs were there from first year? I'm afraid, in a way, Harry is right about me. I was too busy seeing what I needed to see from the boy who lived to notice Harry as just a boy. What have I done?" Albus sighed, as he absentmindedly popped a lemon drop in his mouth.
These self-induced guilt trips he goes on aren't new to me. He's done this to himself before ever since Harry started here. Every time before I found a way to subtly drag him back to reality but now I don't know how to do it with any sort of decorum because it's not like I can say he's wrong or he couldn't have known. I had suspicions as well but my own bitterness allowed me to ignore it. The masks one way or another blinded us all, he saw a savior and I only saw James. So I decide to dispense with our usual routine which I've never had to do, save for the Barty Cronch incident.
I slam my fist down on the desk, shocking him out of his mental lashing enough to get his attention. "Damn it, Albus there's no need for your pathetic guilt since it won't do anybody any good! You clearly care for the brat even if you've fail in this. Just because you weren't able to see what was wrong doesn't make you some heartless bastard. You're not some all knowing or omnipotent god that can know and understand every little thought or action. I didn't even see it and I know what it's like as well as reading his thoughts. He fooled everyone, including me, and that says something about his skills of deception as well as the cloak of fame that hides him. Why he wasn't put into Slytherin still puzzles me. I was blinded as well so stop wallowing and get a grip, Goddammit!"
The shock in his eyes is almost comical but then he smiles a bit after he realizes I'm right. This is another reason why I've come to be irritated by Harry Potter. Albus never used to go on these guilt trips quite as often before the little whelp got here. Then I look up from my mental cursing of the world and notice the old man has a look in his eyes that's even worse, at least for me. That damn twinkle always means one thing when I'm in the room. Albus has a scheme cooked up which I probably won't like one bit because in the end I'll be forced to admit what ever he planned was what I needed.
He dismisses me without another word, which is an even worse omen because it means I won't see it coming when his plan succeeds or fails. I quit worrying about it because in the end the paranoid thoughts and guesses of what he's trying to do will drive me stark raving mad. Even I have to admit that when he puts his mind to it, he is a great master at the "mind fuck" as Harry put it. Oh well, as much as I bemoan it most of the time at least it doesn't make my conscious ache when he wins. Yes, despite the rumors, I do still have one, tortured pathetic thing that it is.
Not having instructions from Albus on how to proceed I decided to try out wit the man by ignoring the problem. Harry gives no indication of his true thoughts and even his eyes don't reflect anything, now. Maybe I won't have to intervene after all. I guess he was able to confide in those little sidekicks or something. My own duty in the war prevents me from thinking on it much for most of the year.
I foolishly believe for a good portion of the year that he found someone to confess to but despite everything the constant nagging of my conscious forces me to at least look over the journal to make sure. The fact that the voice sounds amazingly like Albus bugs me because for the longest time I believed he was using dark magic to make me follow his schemes. I'm still not completely sure if that isn't the case despite fervent denials and a logical analysis from the old coot.
I sit down in my favorite chair near the fire and eye the book warily for a moment. I can almost here Harry's voice in my head mocking me. Afraid Professor, afraid of my sick little thoughts, scared of the brat who wouldn't die? He could even here the mocking laughter, which sounded a lot like James' at the moment. The great Severus Snape, afraid of a little book of musings because your afraid to think the great son of James hates you just as the father did. How deliciously ironic that your hatred could be bent into fear so easily.
That's when he decided to open it anyway because he realized how much his hatred of James had come into play when dealing with Harry. Even from beyond the grave, James mocking tone had driven him to stupidity and the thought of his own mind working against his pride that way sickened him to no ended. Especially considering it could be helping to give birth to another dark lord.
Well, the idiots around here don't seem to notice it but I can sense that I'll be dragged off for the yearly chat with Tom soon. I've taken to wearing my weapons and supplies constantly now because this is usually the time of year when his brilliant plans come to fruition. At least Voldemort is predictable on that account.
Luckily, I've become competent enough to use concealing charms and charmed my robes so that only I can remove the items and they won't be noticed. The ease of which I passed off my astounding body sculpting to quidditch instead of fierce training was funny as hell. The fools are so easily deceived that it's no wonder a new dark lord pops up right under their noses so often.
I was beginning to think Severus was cracking for awhile because he seemed unable to have even an innocuous conversation with me in the room before the reflex would start. The way his hands would ball into fits and uncurl only to ball up again as he fights the urge to wrap those long, slender, fingers around my pretty little throat.
I'd invite him to with sensual abandon but he's wrapped around the headmaster's finger too tightly to give in just yet. I'm still needed to kill the dark lord after all. I almost pity him because I'm sure he knows as much as I do that if I do manage to die it will be at the hands of his first master, robbing him of the pleasure of revenge yet again.
I will live if only so that he can have the revenge he so deparately wants and needs to feel better about himself, and he'll be doing me a favor as well so it won't matter. It's amusing to watch him struggle against the impulse for now. It's a sort of twisted, teasing promise of release and death. A reminder of what I can have when I do what I'm supposed to like the good little slut I am.
Sometimes when I look back on all the things the cunning old coot talked him into I can't help but wonder what the man uses against him to get such loyal work. Then I remember that he's a spy and so Albus always have a fresh supply of guilt to work with never mind the fact that the man asked him to do that as well.
I suppose Albus could get someone to do anything he wanted with his skills at manipulation. It doesn't seem to work on true evil though since he obviously failed when it came to Tom Riddle. The weapons of love and hope don't work on pure evil it seems. Though he can't seem to read me that well either which marks yet another similarity between Tom and I. The only difference this time is the man still hasn't hinted that I'm in danger of becoming another dark lord, which I can only assume, is the result of the blinding mystique of the boy who lived.
Curiously enough his blind faith does have some credence. Even now I have little desire to go out and hack or curse random people to bits. It's much more amusing to let people live and watch them suffer by there own hand because it's a lot less work and no bodies to hide. Perhaps the act of surviving when others didn't gave me a more refined appreciation for true torture or maybe it's just nice to be on the giving end of the mind games for a change.
The fact that people can become there worst enemy so quickly also means I don't have to do anything but add a few subtle comments, then sit back and watch them destroy themselves. Draco's physical retaliation a few weeks ago was proof enough since for some one like him, resorting to such a thing is an insult to his own wizarding pride. I didn't fight back very hard either and he's the only one who knows it. Mocking him in front of everyone yet only he knows what the insult means, how deliciously amusing. I can see why Severus gets such a kick out of it.
Even if he doesn't understand, it will make him arrogant and thus more fun when it happens again. Setting him up only to enjoy watching him fall, making him see how much like his father he really is and the obvious self-loathing he has because of it.
Much sweeter revenge than ripping out the bastard's heart since I can continue tormenting him till my heart's content without even getting seriously reprimanded in the process. It's the least I can do to repay him for delivering me to his father's friends while he gets off scot-free. His spiel about being under imperious too is believed by no one but it didn't matter because his money bought the silence of most. Whether he really was doesn't matter, either way he's suffering and I get my own petty revenge.
I find myself looking back and wondering what would have happened if I hadn't begged the sorting hat not to send me to Slytherin. Then I realize I wouldn't have survived it then. I was a Gryffindor at heart and I followed that, which as always turns out bad in the end. Having a heart at all has proven to be more of a burden than it is really worth with the constant ache and the way it clashes with reason so often. The only advantage of not listening to the hat then is that no one will ever suspect me of actually training and preparing for the battles ahead. I continue the act though knowing full well that's what everyone expects of me.
I loathe admitting it but for most of the idiots that compose the wizarding world they need hope or they would have bowed to Tom long ago. Proves there stupidity even more when you think about the fact that the dark lord doesn't have a gigantic following at all and in a straight battle he'd lose. They never stop to realize that fear is his greatest weapon and the stick he uses to mentally rape everyone.
Another irony to add to the plethora of others that exist in this world. They bend over for him while they force me to bend over for them and still expect me to be able to reach back and stab their rapist without harming them. A sick and twisted nonconsensual orgy initiated by the dark lord who brought down or not still manages to be the only one to get off on the whole experience.
If anyone has the misfortune of finding this thing after I've died, I'd like to note that it's best to keep in mind the fact that all the gross sexual innuendoes is merely the result of a teen-age mind exposed to the atrocities of the wizarding world. It serves as an effective way to reduce my rebellious libido into nothingness. It's funny, in a sick sort of way, to watch as the other boys of my year struggle with it while I only have to think of my first experience and gain iron control.
Ron confessed to me that he has to force himself to think of Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall together before he can tame his problem. Tried it once but the reality is too similar to work real fast, since the image brings me more hilarity to me than actual disgust.
It was embarrassing enough that Snape's image alone seemed to only worsen the problem. The idea that I want to be literally fucked by a man who despises my existence and never fucked with my head without me knowing that he was doing it for a reason just proves the unjust nature of the universe and the absurdity of the human mind. A sick perversion of the love I had craved before I could see love as the tool it is.
I had a nightmare a few minutes ago and I know the time is going to be soon. Lucius seemed really pleased and eager and Tom was broadly hinting that in a matter of hours, his guest of honor would be arriving via Polly-juiced death lackey in disguise. I can keep him out of my head but sometimes my senses or perverse need for torture makes it impossible to keep me out of his thoughts. It's also feels good to piss him off on the rare occasion he catches me. I thought about telling Dumbledore for a moment before laughing myself to tears. I'd rather face this and get whatever he has planned over with than run off crying to Dumbledore. For all his power he can't protect me from this and he knows it.
It was destined to happen one way or another from the moment the curse failed to kill me. He knew that and that's why he let me get close to as much as I did in my early years. I mean he couldn't have been that blind or stupid to be outsmarted by first years could he? No, if he really wanted to protect the sorcerer's stone he would have used a better lock on the first door to fluffy's layer. Something that a simple "Alohamora" spell wouldn't open.
He was subtly testing me, probing my personality enough to set the stage for his greatest manipulation. The greatest mind fuck out of all of them because he cleverly can't be accused of not really caring about me in any way, from an outside point of view you'd think he did which is all the more mocking. The only thing he really cares about is getting Tom out of the way.
The minute I cum and take care of the wizarding world's demons I'll be forgotten faster than a 5 knut whore. He'll pat me on my head saying what a good boy I am then send me back to my little dark cupboard in privet drive to die with nary a qualm while he bows for the wizarding public to adoring applause. I can almost here the sneering and laughing as they cuddle with each other in the afterglow of fucking the boy-who-lived.
At least Snape will get a kick out of it; it's the least I can do for the man before I slit my own throat. They'll be shocked but not because I killed myself, rather because I didn't get to stick around to hear the wild accusations of becoming the next dark lord. They'll be sorely disappointed but then they'll never see it when the real one comes and the whole mess starts up again.
I have little faith that they'll be wiser about dealing with the problem than the last time around. I might consider living if for no other reason then to get Severus annoyed enough to give in to his impulse. It might be nice to think we both get what we want in the end. He gets to kill the bane of his existence and I get the death I should have had at the dark lord's hand had fate not intervened.
I'm sure a good poisoning would be perfect since he can make undetectable and everyone will always assume it was renegade death eaters out for revenge. The irony that they're spot on but not in the way they think would have Snape laughing for years at the memory. If nothing else, at least someone would be amused by me, and not the-boy-who-lived.
Well it's a half-hour before I go to have another lovely little chat with Tom. I'm meeting up with "Dean" because he and I have been study partners all year at his insistence. I'm pretty convinced he's the death eater in disguise since the guy couldn't act nearly as well as Barty could. The rest of them never noticed, which doesn't surprise me in the least so I didn't bother to mention his odd behavior. I knew in order to get my chance I had to play along and pretend to be thoroughly fooled. The fewer people I drag into it the better since I'm not eager to get more people killed on my behalf.
I figured it was either another imperious case or an advanced form of Polly-juice earlier in the year. I was severely disappointed in the lack of originality when the latter of my suspicions were confirmed. I was able to guess correctly when I overheard Snape mentioning that he'd developed a better formula that lasts 24 hours to Albus while I was on a kitchen raid. No doubt, the real Dean Tomas is dead or insane so there's not much I can do for him. Another casualty of war but one of the few I don't really have to feel guilty about since his sacrifice will bring the final stand off.
I guess even the dark lord is running out of ideas or maybe he just wants the perverse pleasure of fooling me with the same tricks, over and over again. Vicious Bastard! Oh well, he'll get what's coming to him soon enough. The final battle is coming and for once it will be on my terms with no one for Tom to use against me. I look forward to the shock on his face when he sees the error of not killing me last year.
Snape dropped the book shaking and dry heaving more violently than the first time. He never questioned what the potion was for and he didn't think to before and now he knew why he was so on edge the last few weeks. Albus had figured out something was going to happen and he naturally suspected the new DADA teacher. It never occurred to anyone to suspect another student even after last year. No wonder Harry thinks we're idiots.
The strange erotic way the boy embraced what he thought was his quiet loathing only sickened him more. The fact that even now the boy was so damaged that he learned to love someone who hated him but not enough to kill or lie to him was disturbing all the more because he found his own body responding. That's when he realized what that constant itch was with Potter the last 2 years, he was doing the same thing.
He was about to leave his chambers when Albus rushed in with Harry's so called friends in tow. He knew then that he was too late and the plan had already started. "Severus, do you know where Harry is? His friends are quite concerned since he didn't return to the dorm. Mr. Tomas is missing as well and I don't have a good feeling about it." Severus held back the urge to sneer at all of them, because it only proved Harry was right about how thick headed and blind they had all been. He merely looked Albus in the eye and said, "I think you should dismiss these two and sit down. There is something you need to read."
Albus shakily sat down but he hid his unease well enough from the children. Severus turned to snarl at them to leave but Albus used his gift for diplomacy to manipulate them out the door. Once the door clicked shut he cast a silencing spell, not trusting the brats not to listen in. Wordlessly he handed the journal back to the headmaster. Albus seemed just as reluctant to open it as he was but managed. The silence was broken, only by the turning of the pages and then the book snapping shut. The resulting tears were enough to prove he knew what had happened.
"It seems yet again I've failed to see what is right in front of me, even after it's been pointed out. I didn't even think Harry would go willingly if he knew there was a plot afoot but I do seem to have a tendency to underestimate his courage and wits these days. I had thought we would be supporting him in the final battle but he has rejected us all. We seemed to have given him the impression that we expected him to end all of our problems alone." He stood up and turned to face the wall, finding the pattern of stone more bearable to look at than the gaze of the other he had misjudged once.
"That he could become so bitter and vindictive so quickly saddens me, but he has earned the right just as much as you, in your youth. Yet even then, he didn't give in to it, so sure we'd turn on him the minute he changed, knowing we needed him to be seemingly innocent to fight back for ourselves. What monsters we have become if we can't even see the truth that we all used him and continued to even as he suffered." Composing his features and wiping the tears away he turns to the door but before he opens the door he looks back toward me.
"Despite my hand being forced into all of this I still do love you and Harry as if you were my own sons. I hope someday he will see it wasn't some sort of tool to get what I wanted, just as you do." The door clicks closed and I'm left to contemplate the very nature of love, need, hope, and sacrifice.
When did fighting for these things turn into using them as weapons on one another to get what we want? And none of them even conscious of what they were doing or how it could be perceived. He realized how glad he was of his hatred of James because it had blinded him. It meant he had been unwittingly kinder in Harry's eyes than the rest of them. Perhaps it put him in a position to teach Harry that love and hope are not weapons of cohesion but real and valid emotions worth protecting. That's provided he makes it back alive.
Dinner the next night was defined by a nervous energy all around. The students all could sense something was off about the headmaster's excuse of Harry's absence. The staff had been alerted to the real problem and they all were silent in their prayers for his return. Severus wasn't too worried because he knew Harry would be motivated to succeed, just for the joy of coming back to tell them all off. He could barely wait for the shocked faces of Harry's supposed friends. It would be a glorious sight that served to sedate his own vindictive nature, as well as Harry's. He only hoped the boy had trained hard enough to get the chance.
Just as the plates had been banished from the table, the front doors burst open and Harry walked in bruised and bleeding but not as bad as before. He walked with confidence dragging the corpse of Voldemort and flinging it up onto the staff table in front of Albus. He walked back to the front of the hall, holding a black sphere of energy that reeked of dark power.
Removing his wand from his sleeve he raised it and chanted in a long string of Latin, opening a back vortex and hurling Voldemort's soul into it. The portal blinked closed as the last shriek from Voldemort's cursed soul echoed through the hall. Harry turned to his audience radiating power and anger that made even Severus stare in awe. "You've all got what you wanted from me now, so stop begging me for more fucking miracles!"
Then Harry turned his back and walked from the stunned audience, battle robes billowing and making the air crackle with magic as he left down the corridor, toward Gryffindor tower. Albus just stared at the corpse before him and let his tears fall. He knew as well as I did that they got what they wanted but at the price of a child's innocent hope and maybe even his heart. It made the victory too hollow and empty to be worth celebrating, at least in their eyes.
Harry became quiet and distanced himself from most everyone. He only said he needed time to think but Severus knew that was just a ploy to spare their feelings, when he decided to take his life. He probably figured his friends would be too busy hating him for ignoring them to worry once he was dead.
They fell for it after a few days and they found comfort in each other. They were probably just giving him the silent treatment trying to get him to come back and say sorry but they didn't know what a dangerous game they were playing with him. Severus kept close tabs on the boy and though he noticed it, made no move to point it out.
Severus has been stalking me since the climatic battle, probably furious that I should do the job that should have been his. I would have rather it be him that killed the bastard but I'm sure he knows better than I do that we rarely get what we want in life.
I think my provoking him will make him giving to his jealous anger soon. Ironic how it might be considered just as extreme as a lover's jealousy, love of a vengeance that he could never have and jealousy of a child who claimed what he desired through blind luck. Ironic, how I can love that hatred from him, longing for it, and be eager to meet my death at his hand.
The glare he gives me in class now can only be described as murderous. I wonder how I will meet my end? Will it be a cunning and devious poison that he just can't identify until it's too late for little goddamn boy wonder, or will he just snap one day and savagely squash, cut, hex, and strangle the life from me. His glare alone has become dark erotica to me and I have resorted to the worst of my memories to hide my arousal from him. Can't have him thinking I like him or anything or he might notice I'm not James.
The first option seems more likely but I can't help longing for it to be the second. To watch as the normal iron control he has breaks and he gives in to his desires. To feel those long slender fingers wrap around my throat as his dark eyes flash in unguarded hatred. To hear that dark voice of silk screaming what an arrogant whelp I am and how I will finally get what's been coming to me since the first day I stepped into his classroom.
Then when I feel my breath leaving me, the mad smile of satisfaction that covers his face as my eyes slip shut welcoming blissful oblivion at the hands of my beloved dark angel. He will never know what he did out of blind rage was grant my deepest longing to know his touch before I die and I'm not about to tell him. I only hope that I can see his face long enough to see the almost orgasmic joy he'll get when my life essence fades under his gorgeous hands. My beloved angel of death, ushering me to freedom.
Severus Snape stared at the last entry of his most maddening student. The interpretation of his actions was completely wrong but he counted on that. The way the boy managed to make the hatred he supposedly felt toward that boy so erotic, he didn't know. The flattering things that the boy called him even as he envisioned a murderous glare of pure hatred was dark poetry that spoke volumes to him. Harry was more like a kindred spirit to him than ever before and the words that flowed from his quill enchanted him even more, despite the disturbing situation.
He longed to show the boy that he felt no hatred toward him, but quite the opposite. He wished he wasn't bound by his honor to Albus so completely that he could take the boy in his arms and show him the love he had known once. He was in love once but before he could declare to his love that he longed for more than his body, death eaters robbed him of the chance. They killed him because he had refused the mark, unlike Severus, and that was the night when he went to Albus to confess. He no longer had a reason to live.
He had longed for death and was comforted that he would die either at the hands of Voldemort's enemy or the ministry. What he got instead was a mission and a purpose, but more importantly he had a real friend who listened to him and had faith when everyone else would walk away. That gift of trust was so strong that he would literally die before betraying it. This is the only time he could remember being so sorely tempted.
He walked to the headmaster's office with his heart in knots. He would either have to leave the school or have the man's blessings because it had taken all his will not to give in, in front of the other 7th years during his last potions class. The way Harry just sat there, playing the diligent student when he suffers so much within almost broke him. He could feel that agony as if it was his own. Those green jaded eyes haunted him, calling to his heart, which he'd once thought dead as well. The boy didn't even fight him when he would cut him down and insult his work, which was all the more disconcerting.
Albus not only declined his request for a vacation but encouraged him in his pursuit provided he was discreet and waited for the summer holidays. The most infuriating part was that yet again he had that annoying twinkle in his eyes as he escorted me out of his office. The old man knew! All along he knew I would save his child from himself when he couldn't but I don't have the energy to do anything more than scowl and grumble as he leads me out of his office. The man has won yet again but I don't really have the heart to complain about it. As always he was right as far as I was concerned.
Harry seemed surprised that Albus had him stay at school over the summer. He thought the man was sure to pull up the excuse of rogue death eaters going after him to send him away as fast as possible. He was almost tempted to believe the man cared but he caught himself before he could set himself up for another fall. The man must want to judge my power to assess what kind of threat I might be in the future. It seemed logical so Harry remained quite and didn't fuss when asked to be tested.
The duel was friendly enough since the only rule he had stated was no fatal or permanently harmful curses. Even then I still managed to beat him and I found the triumph satisfying. He doubted my ability to the end and it was pleasing to knock the superior attitude out of him. The shock over the spells and enchantments I used was comical. I carefully made sure to use an even mix of light and dark magic against him to test whether he would assume me the next dark lord.
He told me that Severus would allow me to use his rooms for the summer and now I know the plan. I'm thankful that the man was willing to reward Severus for his service by allowing him ample opportunity to dispose of me. The first time I can remember getting what I want out of any of his plots. I allow myself a wicked smirk at his back as he escorts me to my well-earned death at the dungeons. Whether he sees the threat or not, doesn't matter much, and in all honest I doubt he knows Severus's intentions.
I watch as Harry is escorted down to my rooms and noticed the wicked smirk that he aims at Albus's back. I don't need a journal to get the jest of what he thinking. It's probably somewhere along the lines of leading me to my death headmaster, how thoughtful of you. I intend to attack the boy all right, but if he thinks he'll get death then he's got another thing coming. I allow myself a wicked smirk of my own as I take a short cut to reach my dungeons. I am not the Head of Slytherin house for nothing, and he will soon know what desires I've been hiding behind my mask.
Severus sits in his chair at the corner of the room as if he didn't even notice the headmaster enter his chambers. They talk for a while and he seems very pleased to have me here. I know what he's thinking and I am practically salivating in anticipation. The headmaster leaves and he gives me a look a purest loathing but I know he won't give in quite yet. He turns to enter his bedchambers and his robes billow out with the force of his agitation as he slams the door behind him. I decide to write in my journal for now and give him his peace for I have waited a long time for death at his hand and I can continue to do so for now.
Beloved angel of death I will wait for thee. Come to me this night and embrace me in your rage. Fill me with your hatred and bitterness and embed your blade within my flesh for I will not fight you. You kiss is poison to most but it is my ambrosia, let me taste your essence sweet angel of death for I do not fear your fury. Your hatred is my love and my salvation from this earth. I long for more but know better than to hope for such things. Sweet darkness is all I have left to embrace and you will bring the darkness I crave.
Finished for the night I settle in to sleep planning my own demise. Then in the darkness I watch as a shadow descends upon me and I know who it is. I feel the black robes swish past me and can imagine the sneer he's aiming at me. I remember I left my book open and almost panic but it is too late. He has noticed the book and leafs through it with those slender fingers. I'm too mesmerized by the grace he exudes in the mere act of turning pages to stop him.. I know my cover is blown but I wonder what he'd think. Will he give in or will he force me to do it myself. I wait for his move with baited breath but even I don't anticipate what he does next.
I know he's awake even as he suppresses the shiver he feels when I caress his skin. I will not kill him but if he allows me my desire he will have a sighting of heaven this night. I don't quit know how my feelings could have changed so drastically over this man but I will not let love slip through my fingers again.
I look on the nightstand and notice the book. I read the short entry he's made and feel myself responding to Harry's words. He is holding his breath but I know this game well. He wonders if I will want to kill him now or ignore his please in an effort to torment him. I know he doesn't dare hope for more but that is exactly what I will give him. That I can give him my love and know I will have so much in return thrills me in ways I had never known even with my previous lover. I love Harry with all my soul and I know that we are destined to be.
I place the book on the nightstand and loom over him staring at his slender frame and drink in the view with unguarded lust in my eyes. The scars that trail his back and torso only make him more alluring for me and it's all I can do to remain calm as I remove my own garments. I lie next to him and he turns to look deep into my eyes searching for any hint of the anger and disgust that he thinks I should feel. I don't turn my gaze away as I tease his hardening nubs with the lightest of touches. The sudden awe and hope I see slowly rising in the emerald depths sends my heart beating faster. I lean forward and claim his virgin lips in a slow sensual passion.
His hands tentatively reach out and begin their own journey mapping my body with the same reverence that I feel for him. He looks it to my eyes again with a silent plea and I know what he wants. He has never known any sort of intimate touch that wasn't supposed to be painful and he is asking me to lead. I'm more than happy to oblige him as I bend forward and kiss him again.
The love we made that night was the most passionate I could have ever known and the feel of my hardness embedded deep with in him was the sweetest bliss I have ever encountered. His hesitancy was quickly diminished with my tender ministrations and the way he met with my every thrust so eagerly warmed my once cold heart in a way I have never thought possible. It's been years since that fateful night but every time I touch his body, even now, it is just as blissful as the first time. The happiness he reflects in his eyes is enough to let me know he feels the same even without the words of love he whispers in the afterglow.
His friends did not understand until he sent his journal to them. They were angry with him for a long time but once they grew up more they saw the wisdom in his move to keep them unaware. His friendship with Ron though will never be as close as it once was but Harry is happy and grateful enough with what he has to ask for more. He never understood how beautiful he is without titles or masks but I have shown him that Harry is the most beautiful soul in my world and for him that is more than he ever hoped. I feel that I am the one who is the most fortunate, though.
The End