Alternative Ending Number 2. Again, beware slash etc. There's a bit of bondage, too.

…….

Snape is half asleep when he feels Voldemort slip out of bed and away. It seems rather early to be morning already, but he is too exhausted to pay much attention.

Cataloguing his hurts, Severus registers a swollen eye, his lower lip almost chewed through, bites down his neck, candle wax blisters on his torso, cuts where his fingernails broke the skin on his palms, chafed and bleeding wrists where he had struggled against the ropes still binding his hands to the headboard, various generalised bruises and a the unmistakable sensation of having been ruptured.

It had been a wild night.

By rights, he should be in agony, but after three intense rounds of Hedonismus everything is blurry and indistinct. His ears are ringing and he has noted the damage impartially, without feeling any of the pain which he ought to be in. In the morning, once he can co ordinate for more than two seconds at a time, he will reach for the healing potion which the Dark Lord will have left on the night-stand and everything will be cured before he has had chance to suffer any real discomfort.

The bedroom games are rarely this violent, but he cannot bring himself to regret a second of it. His Master can make him feel so needed, so sensual, so desired, that he will do anything to please him nowadays. It came as a shock to Snape when he discovered how much he enjoys being restrained and erotically roughed up – he supposes it is something to do with his twisted past and the pleasure/pain principle – and it delights Voldemort to be able to simultaneously dominate and excite his dearest subject to such a thorough extent.

Severus drifts back to sleep, sated and content. He awakens again some time later to the sounds of voices, which is odd, because no one but his Master is allowed inside this room, but he is still riding the waves of the pleasure curse and pays no real attention.

Perhaps a short while later, perhaps hours, the voices are much closer and one of them is repeating the same sibilant word over and over. Through a haze he registered that he is being touched. The feel of a hand against his skin triggers an aftershock of Hedonismus and he shudders, giving a loud groan. The voice says the word again, almost in his ear this time.

"Severus?"

Something familiar about that word, but it doesn't seem to matter. Another voice on the other side of him now.

"Sweet Merlin! Is that really Professor Snape?"

Another familiar word, spoken far, far away. Another shiver of curse residue ripples.

"Hush! You're scaring him. Severus, my boy, can you hear me? It's all right, you're safe now."

"Albus? The scan just showed that…he…well."

"Yes?"

The voices fade to whispers for a moment and he hears a gasp of horror.

"Raped?"

"Quite violently, as far as I can tell."

"Good grief! You mean all this time, Tom has imprisoned him here and has been…"

"It looks like it, Albus. There are also signs of long-term exposure to serious curses. Probably Cruciatus."

"Good grief."

Snape wishes they would shut up and go away. He plans to sleep all day so that he is nice and fresh for when his Master returns in the evening, the older man will need him to be in good condition to rub his feet and kiss away the trials of the day. His last waking thought is how pleasant it is to have a familiar routine to his days. And nights.

…….

Four fluid ounces of Prenderghast's Patent Muscle-repairing Tonic is poured into his mouth, not the mild version used domestically, but the stronger stuff used by St Mungo's and the professional Quidditch Medi-wizards. He wonders why his Master is administering the potion, instead of giving him the independence of doing it himself. He opens his eyes to ask and almost cries out in shock.

He is not in their room!

This place is white and bright an institutional, it smells wrong and feels wrong and…oh, Merlin, there is someone else with him! The Dark Lord will go crazy. He kicks off the covers and tries to leave.

"Now, now, Severus, do stay calm, my boy," he is gently but firmly pushed back into bed. The sensation of a stranger trying to force him into doing what only his Master is permitted to do feels so alien that he panics.

"Let go of me!" he shouts, shoving against the surprising strength of a very old, white-bearded man. It is only when he looks up that he realises just how wrong this situation is. There is a serious problem here. The man is Albus Dumbledore, very much alive when Master had said he was dead. All the fight leaves him and he collapses limply backwards to await his fate.

"Oh, my dear, I am so sorry," he looks devastated as he leans over and arranges Snape more comfortably in the hospital bed. "I did not mean to upset you, after all that you have suffered, but you must lie down and rest. Are you in any pain?"

Snape stares at him blankly and says nothing. He has forgotten how to speak to people other than his Master. Dumbledore reaches out to take his hand and strokes it as though trying to sooth an injured creature, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Child, you do understand that you are safe now, don't you? Quite safe. He can't hurt you any more."

Snape does not know what the Headmaster is talking about – no one has hurt him for a very long time now, things are not how they used to be - until something occurs to him.

"Am I dead?" he asks, glancing around for evidence of clouds, angels and whatnot. There are certainly too many white surfaces for it to be the other place. Or so he hopes.

"No, Severus!" Albus looks so horrified that Snape flinches in expectation of some punishment. When nothing painful happens and no further explanation is forthcoming, he ventures another question.

"Then, where is my Master?" he asks timidly. Dumbledore's eyes are suddenly very watery as he reaches up with a deliberate gentleness and touches his cheek.

"You have no master, child. You are free."

He is not certain what that word means, but for some reason the pronouncement of it makes the bright room spin around him and he tugs the sheet up over his head, hoping that things will be back to normal soon.

…….

Hours of explanations later, he realises that the Dark Lord was either lying to him from the start, or was wildly delusional himself.

The Imperius potion worked perfectly on the population at large, but fortunately, following Severus' warnings, a neutralising solution was secretly issued to key Ministry personnel and Order members. Not expecting resistance, the Death Eaters had been unprepared for the full-scale fight which erupted when they tried to seize control.

Soon after Snape was knocked cold by a falling piece of masonry, the Death Eaters lost the battle. Voldemort was backed into a corner by a crazed Potter, but he escaped by seizing hold of the unconscious spy as a hostage and tandem-apparating them away. The room where he had spent the last two years – could it really be that long? – was actually in the basement of the dilapidated mill in Spinner's End, treated with the strongest notice-me-not charms the aurors had ever seen. When they finally tracked the evil wizard down, the Light fighters were in no mood to be merciful. Voldemort was surrounded and killed on sight. Even after his death, it took them a long time to take down the wards he had placed on whatever precious thing he was trying to protect in the cellar. They were absolutely astounded to find Snape still alive, having declared him missing-presumed-dead long ago.

No one seems to know how the Dark Lord had spent his time when he was not with Snape, nor what he planned to do next.

Some suggest that the defeat had unhinged him completely and he actually believed the lies he told his concubine.

The questions are endless, leaving Severus feeling ignorant and duped, not to mention hating everyone who dares to look at him with pitying eyes over the frightful 'ordeal' he has suffered. He does not contradict their assumptions about the nature of his captivity. It is none of their damned business, anyway. One of the interfering psyche-witches leaves a pamphlet of drivel for him on something called 'Stockholm Syndrome' which he reads three lines of before incinerating.

Dumbledore returns in the evening with an assortment of sweets and a bouquet of deep purple tulips.

"They were the closest thing the florist had to black. Or at least, the closest non-venomous thing," he clarifies cheerfully, though Snape can feel the intense scrutiny behind the innocuous expression. "How are you feeling, Severus?"

He shrugs. "Confused, I suppose," he confesses. Dumbledore nods.

"Perfectly natural," he leans closer. "Is there anything I can do, dear boy?"

Snape ponders this. He is not sure where his life is going, still having a lot of mental readjustments to make, but it is not a decision he is capable of thinking about yet. He shakes his head.

"We are all looking forward to having you back at Hogwarts," Albus enthuses. "There has been a really playful atmosphere since the victory. The Weasley twins must be making a fortune – one cannot sit through a single meal in the Great Hall without an hilarious escapade unfolding! Harry is teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, and of course, everyone is in love with little Sirius…"

"Who?" demands Snape, feeling chills begin to creep down his spine.

"Oh, sorry, Severus. I quite forgot. It seems Harry got rather carried away when celebrating with Miss Weasley after the battle and…well…Molly pushed the wedding through very quickly. Sirius is fifteen months old now and such a cheeky little imp. I think he will definitely be in Gryffindor in ten years' time, it will be so much fun for us all, teaching him!" Happily crunching away at his lemon drops, Albus does not see the shadow crossing the younger man's face.

The spawn of a Weasley and a Potter, named after Snape's nemesis, loose in the castle and at the age where destruction is the only worthwhile pastime. The brat-who-lived in the job which should have been his years ago. A complete breakdown of law and order. Snape swallows the quaffle which has materialised inside his throat and he swears never, ever to teach again, as long as there is breath left in his body.

But what are the alternatives? He feels exhausted in mind and spirit, not just from the gallons of medicine which he had consumed since his alleged liberation. Somehow, he does not want to do anything serious or responsible, like cope with hundreds of disgusting adolescents on a daily basis; but the thought of starting a completely new profession leaves him cold. What does he truly want to spend the rest of his life doing?

He thinks about it in depth for a long time. Then he decides. Then he sets about achieving his goal.

…….

Snape puts down his novel when he hears the door open.

"How was your day?" he asks, as his lover tugs off his glasses and sits down wearily in his favourite chair. Snape unlaces his boots and replaces them with the pink fluffy slippers which are much kinder on the aged bunions.

"Oh, Severus, one would think that the Board of Governors might be tempted to agree with me, every once in a while, but no. I must fight, fight, fight, all the way," he rubs his eyes.

"It amazes me that with your level of skill you cannot find some way to manipulate them," comments Snape amiably.

Dumbledore beams down at him, wondering how on earth he managed for so long without such wonderful care and support. He plants a kiss on the pale forehead and pulls the dark-haired wizard into his lap.

"Will you help me plot something truly devious for them, my love?" he asks tenderly.

"It will be a pleasure," the response is smirked back at him.

Later, lazing in bed with the younger lover who had revolutionised his existence, the Headmaster remembers something he overheard at lunchtime.

"There is a new one today, Severus," he murmurs. Snape rests his head on Albus' chest and hums to make him continue. "Apparently, Voldemort turned you into a veela and I keep you imprisoned in my rooms for fear that your great beauty will makeanyone who sees youwant to steal you away from my bed! What do you think of that?"

"Not bad," he smiles, appraisingly. "Seven out of ten. My favourite is still the one where I am a vampire and you let me drink your blood on the condition that I never leave the room to harm anyone else." He snaps his teeth playfullyat Dumbledore's neck.

"Why does that fail to surprise me?" blue eyes roll.

There is a relaxed silence for a few moments, as the two men lie together, content to merely appreciate the silence and each other. Severus is drifting off to sleep when Albus finally speaks.

"I wish you would go out sometimes, love," he says quietly. "Just once in a while. Once a month, even. I still worry about you, trapped up here all the time."

Snape sighs at the familiar nagging and explains, for possibly the five hundredth time, that he has no wish to go outside, to interact with others, or to do anything but stay in the bedroom all day and relax until his m…lover comes home.

No, he is not suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, agoraphobia or any other condition with a fancy name. He has simply decided that in the past he spent too much time doing complicated and dangerous acts against his better judgement. Now there is no more need for pain, he wants to live peacefully, doing what he wants to do instead.

No, he is not bored with devoting himself to a saggy old fool, and he would prefer Dumbledore not to refer to himself in such terms, thank you.

No, he does not want any visitors invading his space. His epistolary correspondence with Minerva is quite enough variety of opinion.

No, he does not want any form of therapy.

Yes, he is happy.

"I am glad of that," Albus sighs, when Severus finishes explaining the old arguments. "Because I am happier than I have ever been. I must ask you something, however. Do you...oh dear, I am not sure how to phrase this. Please do not take this the wrong way, my dearest, dearest boy. I know he kidnapped you, harmed you and abused you dreadfully, but at times I have the distinct impression that you…miss Tom, in a way."

Leaning back against the pillows, Snape ponders the question. His current situation is so much safer than the old one. He is not afraid to make requests for new comforts. He can use magic whenever he pleases. Should he so desire, he can leave at any time in order to undertake any (legal) activity that takes his fancy. But for now, he prefers to while away the days doing nothing and enjoy the nights with his loverbecause he can.

Does he miss the Dark Lord?

Albus cannot provoke the frisson of danger which used to arouse Severus when he was with Voldemort, and it appears no amount of pleading or sexual blackmail will make the old goody-two-shoes bite, slap or indulge the kinks which he learned a taste for as a prisoner. Snape suspects the reluctance stems from the day he found the captive in his damaged, post-bondage session state, so long ago, now. Yet he is very good at cuddling, worshipping and generally making Snape feel precious and worthy of adoration, which goes a long way towards counteracting the missing element of danger. It seems odd, as he always imagined Gryffindors would be daredevils in bed, showing off their prowess to an alarming degree with props, toys and possibly whole crowds of cheering fans. This venerable King of the Lions is content to devote hours and hours every evening to gently discovering the most romantic way to bring his ugly Slytherin lover to the brink. He does it perfectly, too.

Does he miss the Dark Lord?

He glances over at Albus, who is conjuring a cup of tea just the way Severus likes it in his favourite cup, carefully adjusting the milk-to-tea ratio and bringing it to the exact temperature which he prefers. He hands it over with a tender little kiss, then watches while he takes the first sip, just to make no mistakes have been made.

"Not really," he tells him with a small smile.

…….

A bit darker, a bit screwed up! I think Voldemort finally lost the plot when he lost the battle. Don't pity Severus - he's perfectly happy for the first time in his life!

Thanks for some wonderful comments and suggestions. Just one more ending to choose from, I think! Thank you for reading, love SN x