WARNING: This is a serious fic about the after-effects of rape. It contains scenes of fantasy and sexual violence, plus intimate bodily functions. Please don't read any further if you have the slightest inkling that you shouldn't. Do not read this fic expecting non-con slash, this story is grounded in realism rather than fantasy.
The headmaster was having a late cup of tea in his office. Severus unwrapped the bowl from his robes and went straight to put it back in the cupboard.
"Before you go, how is Harry doing?"
"He's lazy, impertinent and immature."
"Keep plugging away," said the Headmaster, with a wink. "And how was Sirius?"
Severus said, through his teeth, "Lupin stopped by, did he?"
Dumbledore studied him over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "Some sort of counselling session, I presume."
Severus nodded, warily.
"I told Remus as much. The Pensieve is very useful for that. I commend you on your …. initiative. I hope it helped you both to bury the past, Severus. Or go some way to repairing damage done."
Severus clamped his jaw on a bitter smirk and inclined his head. "I'm sure it has, headmaster. Goodnight."
"Sleep well, Severus."
Though Severus was already certain he would not.
(Recap – 20/20: Time Will Tell)
20/20: Damage Done
The weeks passed. Severus found himself alternating between exasperation at having to jump to Umbridge's every whim whilst trying to control the more vindictive sides of his house under her rule, furious preparation of the OWLS, and long, timeless periods of complete numbness.
The world had changed. He was not sure of his place in this new world.
Most mornings he found himself perched on the edge of his bed in his night shirt, cold in the chill grey of dawn, not being able to fathom how long he had been sitting there, or what he had been thinking about.
After two weeks of this, he began to wonder if he had been Obliviated. It was then that he remembered what his brain was apparently trying to make him forget.
The bitter aftertaste of Pettigrew's semen. The searing pain of Black's penis.
From that morning onwards, he still came around seated on the edge of his bed, knowing he had been awake for hours, the only difference being that this time there was always vomit down his front and on the floor. Occasionally, perhaps out of some notion of protest, he shit himself too.
At first the numbness only happened when he was alone. Then it began to leak into other aspects of his life: meal times, lessons, exam invigilating. There seemed to be no telling where it would strike next; except, it never struck, it just swallowed him whole.
His colleagues began to notice. Professor McGonagall asked him twice if there was anything the matter with him. He came to one day standing in the shade of a tree by the lake, and realised someone was touching him, someone behind him. The hex was out of his wand before he could stop it: but it was only Hagrid, looking bewildered and affronted, saying that he'd only wanted to help.
Help.
…did the heavens see…?
The only was he could think of to break the cycle was to see his memory of Black's memory, using the Pensieve. It made him vomit and dirty himself again. He replayed the parts where he was striking Black and binding him to the chair, and imagined himself striking harder and binding tighter and pummelling Black's face until it was mush.
And all he could hear was Black's barking laugh, uttered through a bloody, toothless maw.
It gave him an erection, and he spent an entire night sitting in a bath full of freezing water with a scrubbing brush and a bar of coal tar soap until his penis and his balls had shrunk so far into his body he imagined he was a gelding.
Black should be a gelding.
He conducted the next day's lessons as normal, quite enjoying himself as he conjured gory images of emasculating his rapist. It was much healthier, he thought, than abusing potions, which was his other alternative.
There were two guilty men, of course: but he banished Pettigrew from his fantasies – that could come later, he could not touch Pettigrew at all, just yet.
Nor could he really touch Black. That was the thing: everyone loved him, trusted him, pitied him, protected and molly-coddled him and went the extra distance to understand his moods and his sensitivities.
To Severus, they had only ever paid these humanitarian sentiments lip service.
He could almost laugh at the irony. People were such idiots. They conducted their relationships with only a shallow appreciation of loyalty and trust. It confirmed his opinion of the majority of humankind.
We should tell Dumbledore …..
No. The shame. The weakness. He did not want to cry in front of anyone. Black would not win, he would not achieve his final triumph by revealing how Severus Snape could be hurt and humiliated and made to fear.
What if he tells Lupin? He offered him the memory.
Lupin and his social-worker temperament. That could blow the whole thing wide open. He would interfere in an effort to make things better. It would make things worse, everyone would know. That must not happen. How can I make that not happen?
What does Black want? What can I give him?
His periods of catatonia waned with the intellectual pursuit of this issue, though they were replaced by nightmares in which he was fucking Black with a tiny, insignificant penis, and Black was yawning, so Severus beat him over the head with the Pensieve until his skull split open and his brains trickled out, and his penis grew as big as his arm as he continued to thrust.
These were wet dreams: sweat and semen and tears.
He did, however, feel more in control with the advent of these fantasies. At the next Death Eater meeting he ignored Pettigrew like the vermin he truly was, and did his duty to both his masters in the best ways he knew how. Nobody could ever reproach him for un-professionalism.
Dumbledore, though absent from school, was still intent on holding Order meetings, at Grimmauld Place. Black would be there. So would everyone else. Well, the bastard wouldn't stop him from doing his job.
He arrived punctually, as usual, and took his seat silently at the table, quite normally, as Molly and Nymphadora fought a friendly war of order versus chaos around the kitchen. Lupin greeted him politely and he responded with his usual cool.
Black took a seat at the farthest end of the table to him. He felt slightly disappointed. Dumbledore arrived and the meeting commenced. He dispensed his information and, as a collective, they drank it in and poured it out again. He remained mostly silent during the discussions, unless one or more of them said something completely ridiculous; then he mustered some light sarcasm and sprinkled a few enlightening details.
As always, Molly asked him to stay for dinner. He felt Black's gaze on him for the first time, and met his eyes. Black looked away, immediately.
It's almost like love, this hate …He declined the offer of the meal and got up to leave. He had made it to the front door when he realised that Black was following him, closing the kitchen door behind him, closing in on him down the hall.
He found himself powerless to move, watching Black walk towards him. An icy claw gripped his guts and squeezed.
Not so long ago, my wand would have been in my hand, and the hex on my lips …"I ... I just wanted to … say thanks for coming," Black finished, lamely.
Severus watched him, the nervous flick of his hair, wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, tucking the hem of his shirt into his trousers, the flicker of his eyes.
"Er, how are you? Well?"
Severus let him fill the silence, for he had nothing to say.
"Harry tells me you cancelled his lessons."
He nodded, once.
"Any chance of starting them again?"
"None." The hoarseness of his voice surprised him.
"No, Lupin said … Lupin said he's tried to talk to you about it, but that you haven't …" Black looked uncomfortable.
Severus did not even have a memory of that conversation. Another memory lost.
Black took a step closer, and he could smell him, now, day-old sweat and Molly's washing powder.
His insides spasmed and for one awful moment he thought he might evacuate his bowels or vomit, or both. He drew a sharp breath, breaking out into a cold sweat: Careful, dogs can smell fear.
"Sn – Severus?" Black stepped closer still, within arms length, concern writ large on his haggard features. "Are you alright?"
He was not. He could not move to fight or flee. He felt as if he had been Petrified. He had no power.
He had no power over this.
"What do you want?" The words came in a rush, ragged and thick.
Black examined his face closely, finally alighting his gaze on Severus' eyes. After a moment, he made a small sound in the back of his throat, and fell back three steps.
"Is this what I've done to you?" he whispered.
"No!"
"I have."
"Not – no – fuck off!"
"Filth of my womb, I should have ripped you from my body and chopped you into pieces before you took your first breath, blood traitor,–"
Black dragged the curtains back across the portrait, brushing Severus' arm as he did. It felt like a knife had had its blade dragged across his flesh. But he could not move.
Black rested his hands on the frame of his mother's portrait and hung his head. "Severus, I can't bear to see you like this."
"Like what?" he hissed. "I'm not like anything!"
"If it's the memory," Black said, looking at him, "then, you know, maybe we should … get rid of it."
Severus stared at him, aghast that he could suggest such a thing. It was a memory, ergo it had happened, and Obliviation would not alter that fact; he was still vulnerable, he had still been hurt.
"Sorry," Black said, standing up straight, "I … I just want to –"
"Make it better?" Severus snarled. "Make it go away? So you don't have to look at it?" Suddenly appalled at the raw violence in his voice, he watched Black and wondered why the man did not strike him.
He backed away. This was altogether wrong. All wrong.
Bash in his head, splatter the blood, mash the brains into the carpet …… feel better …
He turned on his heels, wrenched open the door, and practically ran.
The next week was punctuated by eighteen freezing cold baths, six soiling incidents, two vomiting incidents, five enraged outbursts for no apparent reason, three mild catatonic episodes, two 'friendly' visits from Lupin that probably had nothing to do with Wolfsbane, a sudden aversion to owls, hunger, and a small bottle of opium that, after much consideration, remained uncorked but which he began to carry everywhere with him.
He did not know how to deal with this. He just thought he might wait, and distractions would take over and before he knew it he would not feel scared and dirty any more, and he could stop having the increasingly disturbing fantasies about murdering Black, which were becoming so much a part of his daily routine that he could not remember what thoughts had filled his head before.
…like love, this fear ….
One evening, whilst turning the small bottle over and over in his hand, there was a knock at his door: he had been summoned to Umbridge's office. Almost exactly as he had expected, there were Potter and his cronies, in trouble again.
He was joyfully about to leave Umbridge to it, when Potter yelled out: "He's got Padfoot! He's got Padfoot at the place where it's kept!"
How he kept his composure, he did not know. Perhaps it was Potter's sheer unadulterated idiocy, or Umbridge's dangerous tenacity, or the fact that he noticed, for the first time, that Longbottom was in real danger of being throttled by Goyle.
But once he had reached his office again, he felt overcome by the quandary: there was no plan he knew of to capture Black, unless it had happened accidentally, in which case he was sure he would have been summoned; but what if he had not?
Dumbledore and McGonagall were both out of his contact. There was only one thing he could do.
He sank into his chair and pressed his cheek to the cool wood of his desk.
It's your duty, as member of the Order. You have never shied away from anything in your life. You will not do so now.
He came round a while later. It took him several moments to realise that he must have had one of his blank episodes. Cursing, he ran through the grounds, trying to estimate how long he had been out.
He Apparated to London, close to Grimmauld Place.
The house looked empty; but then it usually did. He walked up the stepped and tapped it three times with his wand, and stepped inside before he could change his mind. The hallway was lit from the light coming from the kitchen. He walked towards it, every step a feat of determination.
The room was empty. Then Black was either upstairs, or was at the Department of Mysteries being tortured by the Dark Lord.
He mounted the stairs. They creaked at every step. The first landing was dark but a light shone from beneath two doors. He could hear the hippogriff in one. Black was obviously in the other.
"Black," he said, loudly.
He heard someone speak, then a thud and footsteps, and Black poked his head round the door.
"Snape? What – are you doing here?"
Severus could feel the banister rail against his back. "We need to talk."
"This – er, shit, this isn't the time."
"On the contrary –" He broke off to watch Sirius, who had turned to glance back into the room.
He realised, with a stab of shock, that he had someone with him.
"I will await you downstairs," he said, blandly, and turned away. He heard the door close, and voices. He went into the kitchen and straight to the sink, where he filled a chipped cup with water and drank deeply.
Breathe. Slow your heart. Stop shaking. Think.
He heard footsteps on the stairs, two sets. He set the cup down and turned. Black entered the kitchen, followed only a step behind by Remus Lupin.
Black and Lupin Black and Lupin Black Lupin –- together-
"Well, well," he said, enjoying this sudden, cold feeling of composure. "All dogs together."
"Good evening, Severus," Lupin said, looking worn, seating himself at the table, but not before Severus had noticed his shirt buttons were all done up wrong.
Black simply looked at him, with anger and frustration and embarrassment.
"Did he force you into it, Lupin?"
Lupin looked puzzled.
"Don't fucking start," Black said through his teeth.
"What's going on?" Lupin asked.
"You started it," Severus said, softly, his hand resting beside the comforting length of his wand in his pocket.
"This is not the time or –"
"You started it when –"
"He fucking made me, Snape, or didn't you notice?"
"It didn't appear to take that much persuasion!"
"I SAID I WAS SORRY!" Black roared.
The room fell quiet. Snape realised that he had his wand out. Then Lupin said, quietly, "Would one of you like to enlighten me?"
"NO!" they both shouted.
"Regardless of the strength of your feelings," Lupin said, looking between them, in a tone that actually made Severus look twice at him, "I'd still like to know."
Black ignored him, staring at Severus. "Don't come here making trouble for me now. I offered to help. I said sorry. I don't see what else I can do to make it better."
"Of course," Severus said, tightly, "you appear to be taking solace yourself."
"Are you jealous?" Black demanded.
Severus laughed, almost soundlessly. "I seem to remember you weren't that good. Inconsiderate, one might say." He saw Lupin start from the corner of his eye.
Two angry, pink spots appeared on Black's pale cheeks. "So what's your problem?"
"You," he hissed, "would never be able to appreciate that in a millennium."
… do the heavens see?
Black looked contemplative. "No," he said, quietly, finally. "I can say that I feel more betrayed by one of my friends than you could ever imagine, because that's true, isn't it, Snape? You don't have friends, and you're the one doing all the betraying around here. But I loved Peter. James and Lily loved Peter –"
"Spare me the history –"
"He took my life when he sealed their fate, don't you see?" Black asked, eyes glittering. "That he also did this, that he has made me responsible for this too, for you –" He broke off and hung his head. With a deep breath, he added, "I'm still trying to live some kind of half-life, Severus, with my remaining friend Moony, who I know will never betray me. I suppose you're entitled to feel cheated, never knowing joy. But I can't help that. I'm sorry for it, but I can't help it."
Silence, long and painful.
Severus said, "Then you're saying I should get over it, that I am the master of my own fate, and how I feel is my own fault?"
"No," Black said, meeting his eyes again. "I'm just telling you my side of it."
Lupin suddenly pushed his chair back and left the room. They could hear his light footsteps hurrying up the stairs.
"Did you come here to wreck one of the last happinesses I have?" Black asked, in a defeated tone.
Then Severus remembered why he had come. "No," he said. "I came to see if you were… safe. For security reasons. It would appear your godson has had a vision that you are trapped in the Ministry with the Dark Lord."
Now Black looked concerned. "Is Harry upset?"
"He's with Umbridge. She caught him and his friends breaking into her office to use the floo to contact you here. That's why I came." Severus felt very tired. He pocketed his wand again and sat in a chair at the table.
Black rubbed thoughtfully at the growth of beard on his chin. "You don't think he'd do anything stupid, do you?"
"He is a Gryffindor."
"Be constructive, will you?"
"Umbridge will probably lock him up and he'll be questioned about your whereabouts."
Black went to the door and shouted, loudly, "Moony!"
"We need to get word to Dumbledore," Severus said.
"That's easier said than done. It could take forever for a Patronus to reach him."
Severus suddenly realised where his muddled thinking had led them. If he had not faded out, if he had been able to act immediately…. Send a Patronus … But there was no risk, Potter would not be able to leave Hogwarts …
He heard Lupin on the stairs. He and Black looked at each other.
"Must we talk about this again?" Black whispered.
"Most likely," Severus answered, "or I fear I will go insane."
Lupin paused in the doorway.
Black said to him, "We've got a slight problem at Hogwarts."
Severus watched them together, and in his mind's eye still saw Black with wounds all over him, leaking blood and fluids over his clean white shirt, over Lupin, over the floor; and when he glanced down at his hands, resting palm-up on his knees, he thought they were covered in it too.
To be continued. Don't forget to sign up for email alerts!
NOTES AND NODS
Some of Severus' symptoms are those of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Others I have added with artistic licence.
Please, if you've been affected by any of the issues I'm writing about, consider seeking help: a problem shared is a problem on its way to being dealt with.
Thank you, thank you for reading this. Please review: it's been a difficult story to write and feedback would be fantastic. The next part will be the last in this story. Quite simply, it has wrung me out.
Thanks to all of you that have reviewed so far, I really appreciate it.
Last but not least: thanks to Thirteen Ravens.