Author's Notes: This is a hard fic. It was difficult to write and may be difficult to read. Warnings for this chapter include graphically described non-consensual incest between two male characters, so proceed with caution. If you find incest fics difficult to read or are wary of slash, be careful with this one. It's not meant to be easy. If you love it, praise it in a review. If you hate it, specify why. If you have suggestions, criticism or advice, please share it. Written for Val, who always has the best recs.
Chapter One
He was fifteen. It was summertime. Late one June afternoon, specifically, when a rare rainstorm swept in from the west to blot the sun from the sky. Clouds, grey-blue and white, billowed like laundry dancing on the line, fast moving, crouching down heavily in the atmosphere and yet, at the same time, appearing to sway.
Severus sat in his bedroom, leaning back against the headboard of the bed, his chin tucked and his eyes downcast. It was an uncomfortable position, and the aching muscles of his back strained for release, but he refused to shift himself, hoping that if he held the posture long enough, he might shrink or even disappear. Heat, oppressive and humid, surrounded him, and the air was close, electrically charged and sagging wetly against his skin. Fat raindrops spilt slantways across the smudged glass of the window, clinging for an instant before sliding ever downward, dripping to the pane, to the gutter, to the grass below, which was yellowed and crisp from drought. Severus watched them, idly twirling his wand between his fingers, feeling the rap of smooth wood against his bony knuckles. He thought of the clothes, Muggle outfits all, that hung rumpled and careworn in the closet; bright-checked shirts, denim jacket, trousers. He had not wanted them, certainly had not chosen them. He craved the glide of wizards robes over his body, the smooth feel of magical clothes and the aura of mystery they enchanted him with. When he was wrapped in them, engulfed in black, he felt different somehow, removed, but his father had forbidden him from wearing any of that attire at home during the summer. The neighbours might see, when, as twilight asserted itself across the sky with a rippled purple flag of clouds and reflections to mark its way, Severus ventured out for a stroll. He was dressed in jeans then, a black tee-shirt housing his spindly rib cage, his feet bare.
"Wizard," muttered Tobias Snape, causing Severus to jump, his gaze turning from the grey window to his father, who leaned against the doorway, sneering. "She went and gave me a wizard son."
Ignoring him, Severus clenched his fist around his wand. He was not supposed to have it out, strictly speaking; Slughorn, in charge of Slytherin, might look the other way for his favourite student, but Minerva McGonagall had given him numerous warnings during that last week of school, when she took aside the Mudblood children, along with half-bloods like Severus, to lecture them on proper wizarding law. Wands were to remain hidden over the summer, and magic to become a lie, drifting only in the hollow heads of those who dwelled in two worlds, residing among their magical counterparts only half of the time. Unlike his peers, who scampered home with movies and football on their minds, Severus dreaded the long stretch of the summer months that required him to abandon everything that felt real and return to a life he hated.
"You heard me," Tobias said, marching into his son's room.
Severus shrugged, a casual gesture that failed to convey the terror that crept just beneath the skin as his father moved closer, closing the door behind him. He hated the man and feared him as strongly as he had once loved and admired him, as a small child, to whom Tobias had loomed a giant. When he was younger, Severus had thought of Tobias highly. He had craved participation in the confusing Muggle rituals his mother had forbade him to attend, and had not understood why she was so defiant on his behalf. To Severus as a young boy, being shepherded about in an automobile or brought to a Muggle store was a grand and much sought after adventure.
Now, however, a moment with Tobias beside him was a moment spent in panic. Gone was the attentive, if somewhat overbearing father, replaced with a fearsome drunk who often turned violent on his wife and son. The only child, Severus caught the brunt of it. He did not play football or rugby, he did not sport and spit or smoke tobacco. He did not gather with friends to drink beers and watch television, and in Tobias' view, he was a failure, a curiosity not to be studied but repaired, who needed the magic and whatever else differentiated him from Tobias' dream to be beaten from him.
Leaning forward, the glint in Tobias' eye was deadly. "What's the matter with you, boy? Afraid to talk to your own father?"
Severus flinched against the glare that met his eyes and drew back, feeling the jut of his spine press against the cool wall. "I don't know what to say," he admitted, hating the way his voice broke as he spoke, a stupid, pubescent tumble of words. "I can't help being a wizard." Not that I'd want to, he thought, but wisely did not say. "Mum's a witch," he added, as if that would excuse him. As soon as he spoke, he regretted the words. He always forgot, as autumn and winter and spring danced by in a blur of motion and magic, what it was like to speak to his father. Blaming his mother would not help anything; his parents fought constantly as it was. Even though he had only been home on holiday for two weeks, Severus was already accustomed to finding his mother bleeding and unconscious in the hall after a round of beatings, loathing her even as he pitied her for taking Tobias' abuse without protest or defiance.
As Tobias leaned in closer, Severus could smell the stark, medicinal fragrance of alcohol on his father's breath, coupled with thick smoke that fanned out across the front room in blue clouds, the familiar sweat and salt tang that resided permanently in Tobias' preferred chair. "They don't like you in school, do they? Not with your strange name, those funny looks." Tobias jabbed Severus hard right beneath the collarbone, as if wanting to drive the words home to his heart. "Aye, I heard. Always that long nose stuck in a book, no friends to speak of. I told your mother you'd turn out this way if we let you go to that school, but she wouldn't listen. You should have been drowned like a pup, the runt of the litter. You're not worth nothin'."
The Slytherin common room, with its green hangings and antique silk couches, talking portraits on the wall and always, always, the rustle of whispers echoing irregardless of the time, seemed so far away. Severus glared back at Tobias, pleased he had the nerve to do so, knowing it would only make things worse. He was the whelp his father said, was indeed worthless. Hadn't James Potter and Sirius Black, like twins with their black, gleaming hair and their secret smiles, told him so? He had cursed them back, using those ancient hexes learned from the books his mother stored in the attic still. He had fought, shouted and planned, but as violently as he had meted out retribution for the insults, the Gryffindor foursome had bested him, broken him, until he had known, as much as he hated it, that they were right. He had seen his own failings in the way the other students, even his supposedly loyal house-mates, turned away from him when he was being attacked, abandoning the weakest link in their pureblood chain. He was the sacrifice, the target, the dark-haired scapegoat with brooding eyes and too much knowledge, with arms that hung limply at his sides, unable to fight back.
"Slughorn," Severus attempted, but the name died on his tongue. It was true, he was frequently praised in Potions. Sometimes Slughorn even asked him to stay after, and they sipped cooling tea and chewed crystallised pineapple that dissolved into a sugary smear on his tongue. He often waited while Slughorn brought up research methods and told him stories of great brewers, and for a few moments it felt like respect, but it never lasted. The shades always came down with a wave of Slughorn's wand in the end, and the gleam in his professor's eyes changed, turning darker. Those precious compliments faded from Severus' mind as Slughorn, one pudgy hand resting on Severus' thigh while the other attempted to unbutton his billowing robes, slid closer, panting and muttering in Severus' ear. And then there was pain, and the dig of phials pressing into his skin as he lay, stomach-down, on the long tables where cauldrons normally sat during class, feeling Slughorn burrow into him, and the man's desperate hands grabbing and pulling, too rough for Severus to convince himself it was anything consensual.
Wrapping his thin arms around himself, Severus shivered. The oppressive June heat seemed to have fled, replaced by an arctic chill. He averted his eyes, knowing his father would read the truth about that in his black irises. He did not want to think about Slughorn now, not when he needed all his wits and strength. Thoughts of the professor made him weak-kneed, not in a good way, covered his pale flesh with goose-bumps, made his teeth chatter as if he had been struck by a strong gust of cold wind.
"Silly boy," laughed Tobias, and his tone was halfway affectionate, the anger leaking out as he reduced his only child to a bundle of nerves, shaking and shivering on the faded bedspread. He extended one hand, patting Severus' head twice as if Severus was not a young man but a dog displaying exceptional obedience.
The movement caused Severus to jerk away from his father's touch, but too late; Tobias' quick fingers clenched a handful of Severus' longish hair, clenching the strands in an iron grip. "Well, wizard boy, let's see you work some magic on me," Tobias barked out, pulling Severus forward. With one hand, he kept hold of Severus' hair, and with the other he reached for his belt, slowly unhooking it and pulling the buckle out from the belt loops of his trousers.
"No," Severus breathed, bewildered. Panic engulfed him, and the room felt devoid of fresh air. His head swam, his consciousness challenged by the rapid turn of events. Of all the punishments Tobias had meted out since Severus had begun school, none had involved sexual abuse, and Severus, possibly naively, had never expected them too, despite the vague memories of touches upon his smooth, childish thighs that occasionally haunted his deepest dreams. Twisting in hopes of freeing himself from Tobias' hold, Severus' hands scrabbled across the blankets of his bed, searching for the reassuring feel of his wand, but all he felt was smooth cotton, the sensation of unwashed sheets beneath his legs.
The smirk on Tobias' lips was one of the cruellest expressions Severus had ever seen. His father regarded him with eyes black as night, his lips moist from a lick of his tongue, and held up the wand. Before Severus had time to protest, Tobias changed his grip, pressing down with his fingers, and the wand snapped in two. He threw the jagged spikes of wood onto the floor, where they bounced against the dusty rug and settled, still and powerless, on the ground. Severus watched them fall from the corner of his eye, feeling like it was himself that had been broken under those brusque fingers, reduced to so many splinters. The scrape of Tobias' fingernails against his scalp brought him back, and Severus felt his body tremble and quake as he watched Tobias undo the buttons of his trousers with his thumb.
"Suck it," ordered Tobias, his voice slightly ragged. Already, unexpectedly, he was hard, and his breath emerged in blunt little gasps as he wrenched down his trousers, exposing his genitals and the tops of his thighs.
Severus tried to shake his head, ignoring the pain in his skull as Tobias pulled his hair. He looked at the shabby bureau, on which sat a single Wizarding photograph of the handful of boys he had befriended first year, then towards the handmade curtains with their faded print in blue and green, desperate to look anywhere but at the body before him. Tobias' thighs were thin, like his own, and lacking in youthful muscle Severus possessed. His skin was pale, dotted with coarse black hairs. His penis was swollen and pink, the head flushed dark purple, waiting.
"No," Severus stated, the sound escaping through a jaw clenched with terror and smouldering fury. I hate you, Severus thought, unsure of whether his hatred was for his father or himself, but the anger was nothing compared to the fear that raced through his bones. "I will not."
Tobias tightened his grip and shook his fist, forcing Severus to nod unwillingly. "Oh yes you will, boy," he stated, the anger and arousal making him handle Severus rougher than he had planned. "Get to it, or I'll kill you. I swear it." He cupped his hand around Severus' neck and squeezed hard for a moment, pressing Severus' windpipe closed to give him a taste of the consequences. The sight of his son's face, white with fear, sent a shiver of pleasure through Tobias. He watched Severus blink rapidly through a dark fall of hair, watched his mouth open and close like a fish gasping for air, finally releasing his hold on Severus and thrusting forward, so that when Severus's lips parted to indulge in the sudden oxygen, the tip of his cock bounced against his warm, panting mouth.
Severus recoiled so quickly he felt something in his neck snap. Drawing his arms up over his face, he wiped his mouth frantically on one arm, bitter tears forming in his eyes. This was real, this was actually happening, and he knew it. Finality settled in his stomach, leaving his limbs numb and shaky, making him feel incredibly heavy, unable to run.
Tobias thrust his hips again, settling one weighty hand on Severus' shoulder. His fingers bit into the sensitive flesh there, arousing a cramp which Severus barely felt, his mind was so focused on seeing through the whirlwind around him. He felt the bump of Tobias' eager cock against his lips again, and found his lips parting unwillingly as Tobias' other hand encircled his throat and squeezed. Tobias' cock jabbed its way in, seeming to swell against Severus' stunned palate and tongue, poking against the back of his throat.
Wrenching backwards, Severus sought the clean flood of air into his assaulted throat, but Tobias caught him, wrapping his hands around Severus' head and back, dragging him forward until he nearly slid off the bed, refusing to clear Severus' mouth, which he had claimed for his own. He slammed his hips forward again and again, shuddering with the warm, engulfing presence of Severus' untrained mouth. Slick with spit, his organ sought the hotter depths of Severus' throat, and Tobias pressed Severus' face against his groin, bucking into Severus' mouth. That Severus screamed only made it better. His cock muffled the sounds and swelled at the vibrations.
Nose pressed into Tobias' groin, Severus flailed and sobbed, his hands striking ineffectually at Tobias' legs. He was young still, and unlike his schoolboy counterparts sought the dark calm of libraries as a sanctuary over the Quidditch pitch, and so he possessed little physical strength. What strength he did have had fled him, leaving his limbs heavy and motionless, and so he did little more than slap his father, who did not release him. He could smell salt as Tobias' sweat dripped into his face and mixed with the flowing tears there, and a deeper, musky scent of pheromones reached him as well. His mouth burned. His lips felt chapped and bruised, the delicate skin there ripped away by each repeated thrust until it was his blood, mingled with his saliva, that lubricated Tobias' cock. The hinges of his jaw ached, the soreness becoming acute with each stab of Tobias' organ, and there was the burn of cloth rubbing across his scraped knees as he kneeled and was dragged, forward and backward, by the force of Tobias' movements.
Severus tried to think of something, anything, to ease to the feeling of helplessness that suffused through him, but nothing helped, not even the memory of school and the elation of magic, of adding a precise measure and brewing a perfect potion, of casting an immaculate spell. He thought of the fights between his mother and father, the screams and thuds in the hallway, and the way Eileen had looked on those grim occasions when there had been miscarriages. He thought of the bodies, three in all, buried beneath the thin, rocky soil behind the shed; potential siblings who had never quite come to be. No raven-haired sister for him, no buoyant brother with his mouth talking murder, the way Sirius Black had. He thought of Slughorn and their secret afternoons, those nips of wine and the sweetened pineapple, and the way it never felt like rape because Slughorn smiled, Slughorn said he was good; even in those dusky, shadowed rooms when he lay face-down and stripped, Slughorn praised him and whispered his name when he came. He thought how different it was, those nervous jerks of Slughorn so far from the way Tobias, eyes open and filled with contempt that shone through the pleasure, handled him.
"Uh," grunted Tobias. His reaching hands slid down Severus' back, his sharp fingernails scraping the tender skin through the thin tee-shirt, his hips moving in wild, stabbing motions. His thrusts quickened and he moaned, fingers driving bruises into Severus' skin as he cupped the boy's chin and pulled Severus forward, rapidly battering his way deeper and deeper into Severus' startled mouth. He came with a loud, deep moan, flooding Severus' mouth with come that spilled down his torn lips.
The instant he was released, Severus fell forward into the bed, his burning face seeking the shelter of the bedclothes. He coughed and sputtered, spitting out the semen that covered his teeth and tongue, sobbing as he choked on the sticky come. His breath was audible and ragged, each desperate, miserable inhalation burning his lungs. He fought a desperate skirmish for his sanity, swiping his bleeding lips with one arm, staining the sheets with tears, clawing his face in agony.
He did not expect the kick in the ribs, his father's heavy boot driving into his side with explosive force. Severus cried out in pain, hating the helpless warble that emerged from his lips, the gibberish that followed as he tried in vain to articulate his anger. Curling onto his side in a fetal position, pressing his knees to his chest despite the contraction of his lungs in that position, Severus closed his eyes against the darkening evening. He felt Tobias spitting on his face, the saliva splattering on his flushed cheek, before blacking out.