A/N: I forget that you don't know me as well as my friends do. Let me tell you, quite honestly, that I'm not very good at carrying out my threats. And depriving you of your smut? I would never do such a thing. Besides :-) it's fun to write.
Disclaimer: Still not JKR. I checked the mirror this morning, but no change. I'll let you know if I make any progress. Until then, I think it'd be safe to assume that I'm just another HP crazed fan who doesn't legally own any of this story.
Severus Snape could have written a thousand pages on the nuances of lying. No one knew better than him how to twist the truth, dress a lie up prettily and give it the quiet air of something true. Severus lied with his body, his mind, and his heart. He hid the truth away, hid his true self away, and became someone else entirely.
And so he could face the Dark Lord like this, his lips still wet from the touch of Harry's and feel nothing but loyalty for this creature.
And every time he stood face-to-face with the Dark Lord, it became easier; there was a little less of himself to hide away, a little less goodness left alive.
A little less life in him.
Almost, he looked into his master's eyes and thought involuntarily of Harry, pictured him, at their last meeting, stepping forwards for a farewell kiss, lips red and chapped with previous kisses, parted slightly, a pink tongue showing between white teeth.
But he did not. Instead, he pictured with longing another pair of lips on his own, snakelike red eyes meeting his, a taller, paler figure embracing his own. He allowed the slightest trace of these thoughts to seep through the barrier of his mind, and knew that they would be immediately noticed. Lord Voldemort did not know how good an Occulemence his servant was, and it would do no good for him to find out. So Severus let things slip.
And when the Dark Lord's eyes met his own, he lowered his gaze to his master's feet and bowed low, whispering, "My Lord.", and straightened to see something unreadable in that terrible face.
"Severus, you will remain afterwards."
This was why he'd pushed the boy away, time and time again, whispered the small, sane corner of his mind. This was what separated them; that Harry was incapable of the horrible things Severus did with such ease. That Severus could bring out this part of himself, that was entirely missing from Harry.
And Severus nodded.
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Harry lay in bed, feeling just sick. How easy it was to forget about Voldemort, about the danger Severus was in, when things were going well. But this pleasant, perfect world he'd been living in, the reality he'd constructed for himself, fell to pieces the second it was tested.
Because Voldemort was alive, and Harry could not afford to forget it for a second.
Ron and Hermione gave him worried glances, but he shook his head and claimed a headache, not wanting to talk.
Not wanting anything but Severus.
Harry had taken up the burden of killing the Dark Lord, had suffered through the hatred of the entire wizarding world, had watched a classmate die, had been through so much…and yet had never wanted to set his burdens down. He wanted to set them down now. How easy it would be to simply run away, to find a place our of Voldemort's reach, and just live there, with Severus.
And he, Harry, would not suffer for it.
"Harry?" It was Ron's voice, and Harry raised his head, lifted one hand lethargically to move the curtains away from his bed.
"What?"
"Are you alright? Hermione reckons you needed some time to yourself, but I thought I'd come check on you…"
Harry felt a wave of guilt. He, Harry would not suffer from abandoning everyone, but Ron would.
"I'm great, ya."
Ron scoffed. "Right. It's got something to do with that git, hasn't it?" He asked cheerfully, sitting down on his own bed.
Harry's insides contracted painfully at the thought of Severus, at what might be happening to him at this very moment. "Don't call him that."
"But that's what he is. Anyway, you're avoiding the question; what's up? Has he been a bastard to you?"
Harry shook his head, overlooking the insult to Severus, as he had to. Ron was hardly likely to change his opinion overnight.
"What, then?" Ron assumed a sugary voice. "Did ickle Harry not get his cuddle?"
"Shut up, mate." But Harry was smiling.
Ron grinned back. "I'll go report to Hermione, then. She's in a right state, as usual. She worries too much."
But when Ron had gone downstairs, leaving Harry to dark thoughts of torture and the Dark Lord, he found himself thinking that maybe Hermione was right to worry. Maybe he and Ron were the foolish ones, laughing and joking while Severus risked his life.
And with that sobering thought, he found himself drifting into a fitfull, dream-tangled web of sleep.
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Severus looked up at the Dark Lord, his eyes wide. "You asked me to remain, my Lord?" His voice was polite, as always, and if it held a shiver of apprehension, he accompanied it with the mental image of those fingers stroking him. The Dark Lord was as susceptible to flattery as any other mortal; you just had to make sure he didn't realize it was intentional.
"I can smell your thoughts, Severus."
Yes, you can.
He looked down at his feet, adoring his master.
You know everything about me.
"I know everything you know."
Everything.
Lord Voldemort was standing much closer than was necessary, since they were alone. "I even know," he hissed into Severus's ear, "how much you long for me…"
He allowed his eyes to meet the glowing red pair level with them. Emotions flashed through them, too fast to read with any accuracy. Fear, hope, lust.
"My Lord." He licked his dry lips. "I have never allowed my…feelings to interfere with serving you, I hope."
The tall wizard stepped back, a light smile on his lips. "Not at all, Severus. You have been the perfect servant."
Severus inclined his head.
"But this infatuation…" he twirled his wand between two fingers, idly. "this infatuation must not give you illusions of grandeur."
Severus felt the wand-tip on his cheek, pressing against his skin lightly, the warm wood sending a tingling feeling through his face.
"Because that is all you are, Severus. A servant."
"Yes, my Lord. You are power incarnate, and I worship you."
"Indeed." The wand-tip did not move, but the Dark Lord's voice was cheerful. "But if I thought, Severus, that you saw me as an equal; as a potential partner, I would be most displeased."
"I would die for you, my master."
"Yes." The voice was icy. "You would. Because if it were required, and you did not, your fate would be significantly worse than death. You know that, don't you?"
"Of course."
Severus, his eyes on the ground, only felt the wand tip vanish from his cheek, and a faint brush of air as a warning. Had he been looking up, he would have seen only a flick of that wand, and a flash in the thin eyes.
And his hands were bound, above him.
"Power is everything, Severus." Came the dark whisper. "And you have none."
He didn't answer, only allowed his eyes to burn with what could be interpreted as lust and fear.
The Dark Lord crept closer, and snaked a hand around Severus's back, entwining those sinuous fingers with his hair, hauling his head back, baring his servant's neck.
Severus said nothing.
"And if you have no power, you are nothing."
"Yes, my Lord."
And his master bent down and pressed a kiss to his lips. The lips touching his were so thin that the kiss seemed to consist mostly of teeth and jawbone, and red eyes filling his vision.
Severus kept his mind blank. Nausea he could keep at bay, but he could not manufacture anything else.
And suddenly his hands were free and the Dark Lord had stepped back, a satisfied smirk on his lips, a wave of cool air passing over Severus.
"You may go."
"My lord." He bowed, in control of himself again, a dreamy, longing expression on his face.
"Severus." His master nodded, and Severus disapperated with a pop.
The Hogwarts grounds were dark, in the distance, and Severus staggered as he appeared underneath a short tree. A thousand twinkles of light shone though castle windows, illuminating the Whomping Willow.
Severus feel to his knees, retching. The stench of the Dark Lord was still in his nostrils, the smell of death, of fear.
He wanted to slit his own wrists.
He might have, if he could have remembered how to work the charm.
But he had to report to Albus, and he had responsibilities.
Severus could not remember what his responsibilities were, at the moment. All he could think of was the appalling stench that seemed to have attached itself to him. If he had been tainted before, what was he now?
He vomited then, on the ground beneath a tree, and spat the taste from his mouth, shaking.
Death must be preferable to that touch, that violation.
But instead of turning his wand against himself, he stood, shuddered once, and began to walk up the hill towards Hogwarts. Severus Snape was powerless to take his own life; because his life was not, in fact, his own.
A/N: So…it took me a long time to update, but you're coming to expect that, aren't you? Don't you feel sorry for Sev? Of course, things are only going to get worse for him. Let me know what you think!