Some text from The Beast Within by Émile Zola (1890).
You're taking things a little too far.
The thought popped up sometimes, a distant siren muffled by the fog that enveloped James whenever he got too close to Snape. But the thing was, Snape didn't fit. He was too proud, too strange, too solitary. He sneered at all the lesser creatures that scurried around, he looked down on James. James Potter, who had wealth and blood and power, and Snape looked at him as if he wasn't fit to wipe his shoes on. Nothing James did made any difference.
Touching him, making him shake, making cry and scream and bleed had become addicting. He wanted to see how far he could push. He wanted to touch more of him, he wanted to cut him open, and prove once and for all that James Potter was better than him. He wanted Snape to look up at him with those dark eyes and know he was nothing; just some poor, pathetic animal who should feel lucky that James even noticed him.
Maybe we took things a little too far, James thought as he dragged Snape from the Shrieking Shack. The other boy was clutching at him, his hands grabbing fistfuls of robe, their bodies pressed against one another. There was no proud, imperious expression on Snape's face now, only terror. James wrapped an arm around his waist as he helped carry him across school grounds, feeling oddly indulgent. If only Snape was like this all the time: docile, clinging, domesticated. Then James wouldn't have done the things he had.
You have to first break a horse if you want to tame it.
James gently brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across his face, and within that single, crystallized moment something snapped. The glazed-over look in Snape's black eyes vanished, replaced with a burning hate. "Get away from me!" He shrieked, shoving his way out of James's arms and stumbling forward.
Whatever tender feelings James had felt just then instantly vanished. He was reminded that Snape was scum. Incapable of experiencing anything like gratitude, even for the man who saved him. Something must be done about him. He wasn't fit for human society. He would just pollute others, he would pollute Lily with his dirty, greasy hands.
Snape's fingers dug into the wet earth as he stumbled up the path. James followed him silently. He should probably just kill him now. Snape was a danger, he knew Moony's secret. James could do it. He was sure he could. A spell, maybe, or he could just pick up that rock over there and bash Snape's brains in. He'd be doing the world a favour.
He kept thinking about Alison Hayes, and what it must have been like for her killer to see the light fade from her eyes.
Snape picked himself up and started running, and the moment slipped from James's fingers.
It was harder to sneak up on Snape after that. He was spending more and more of his time with Mulciber and Avery and Rosier, sucking up to them, doing their homework for them, willing to do just about anything to keep them around. It was disgusting to see. Snape never acted that way to him, and the Mulcibers were nothing compared to the Potters.
It left James feeling jittery, his mind at loose ends the longer he had to wait to get Snape alone. The only good thing about Snape's newfound friendships was that Lily hated it too.
"... Thought we were supposed to be friends," he overheard Snape say. "Best friends?"
"We are, Sev," Lily answered with a sigh. "But I don't like some of the people you're hanging round with! I'm sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, he's creepy! Do you know what he tried to do to Mary MacDonald the other day?"
Lily reached a pillar and leaned against it.
"That was nothing," said Snape. "That was a laugh, that's all–"
"It was Dark Magic, and if you think that's funny–"
"What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?" Demanded Snape. His pale, sallow skin had taken on a high, red colouring that sent James's heart thundering.
"What's Potter got to do with anything?"
"They sneak out at night. There's something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?" His eyes were feverish, almost begging her to pick up the clues he had dropped for her, the oath Dumbledore had placed him under kept him from physically saying the words. That fucking snake. Even now he was trying to get Moony in trouble, after everything James had done for him. He should have killed him that night.
"He's ill. They say he's ill–"
"Every month at the full moon?"
"I know your theory," said Lily, and she sounded cold. "Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they're doing at night?"
"I'm just trying to show you they're not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are."
"They don't use Dark Magic, though." She dropped her voice. "And you're being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow, and James Potter saved you from whatever's down there–"
Snape's whole face contorted and he spluttered, "Saved? Saved? You think he was playing hero? He was saving his neck and his friends' too! You're not going to– I won't let you–"
"Let me? Let me?"
Lily's bright green eyes were slits. Snape backtracked at once.
"I didn't mean– I just don't want to see you made a fool of– He fancies you, James Potter fancies you!" The words seemed wrenched from him against his will. "And he's not… everyone thinks… big Quidditch hero–" Snape had taken on that twitchy, incoherent quality he got whenever James touched him.
Lily's eyebrows were creeping up her forehead. She seemed torn between pity and disappointment. "I know James Potter's an arrogant toerag. I don't need you to tell me that. But Mulciber's and Avery's idea of humor is just evil. Evil, Sev. I don't understand how you can be friends with them."
And then it happened. After weeks and weeks of being forced apart, James spotted the slimeball sitting all by himself underneath a tree and he couldn't hold himself back anymore. He had Snivellus dangling by his feet, exposing his graying underpants to the entire school, and Snape, in his infinite wisdom, called Lily a mudblood and whatever was holding them together shattered. She looked like she had been slapped, shocked that Snivellus would dare utter that word to her. And then her expression hardened. She walked away. James had won.
"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"
The laughs and hoots of the crowd fed his euphoria, and with a quick flick of his wand Snape's underpants were left floating in the lake. Something hot pulsed beneath James's skin as Snape, his eyes wet with tears, glared hatefully down at him. He was trying to cover himself with his hands. Those long legs were curling against his body. All that skin. James wanted to touch.
The urge was overpowering. James flung Snape into the lake to keep from succumbing to that urge.
Peter clapped his hand on his shoulder. "Now that Snivellus is out of the way, you need to up your game. You've got to woo Evans. Prove to her that you're not a complete Neanderthal. If you want her, you've got to lay off Snape. At least for a little while."
"'Lay off Snape?'" James echoed, dumbfounded. It was absurd. How could he just lay off Snape?
"You want Evans, don't you?"
Of course he wanted Evans. She was perfect. But Snape…
He tried. He honestly tried. But Snape would sneak into his thoughts, consume his brain, and he couldn't help but look for him on the Marauder's Map. He was always surrounded by Mulciber and Avery.
And then, one stormy Thursday evening, he opened the map and saw Snape leaving the library, alone, the dot that was marked with his name hurried along, afraid to be caught out after curfew. James grabbed his invisibility cloak and raced to after him.
He caught him on the stairs leading down into the dungeons.
Snape was oblivious to James's presence. He padded softly behind the other boy, his breath muffled underneath the cloak. James didn't think about Lily. All he could think about was Snape. He remembered him as a first year, and even then Snape had been violent and strong-willed. He had grown taller each autumn he returned to Hogwarts, his ankles flashing underneath his too short robes. Those pale legs dangling in the air, his long-fingered hands cupping his cock, trying to hide. James felt a swimming in his head. Those legs were bent on making James a murderer.
Snape paused, and slowly turned his head, his black eyes searching the empty darkness. He was nervously clutching at his patched and fraying bag. "... Potter?" He whispered.
James was silent. Snape stared for a few seconds longer. The moment he turned his back, James let the cloak fall to the ground and rushed him.
Snape, hearing his charging footsteps, whirled back around, but his hand – clutching at his wand – was crushed against James's chest as he fell backwards against the stairs. They slid down a few steps, Snape's wand slipping from his fingers and rolling until it ended up at the bottom of the staircase.
Snape was screaming something, but James, not hearing a word he said, crushed his lips against his own. Snape uttered out a feeble cry, more like a moan, and it sent James rocking into him. James tore his mouth away and stared down at Snape's dazed expression, and he was all at once seized with a terrible frenzy. He glanced around for a weapon to kill him with. Snape's bag had been ripped open, spilling out books and parchment and a pair of scissors they used to cut the nubs of their quills.
With one hand, James crushed Snape against him, kissing, and thrusting forward, his other hand reaching around to grasp the scissors. He wanted to do it. He wanted to drive them deep into Snape's stomach when an icy chill came over James, bringing him back to his senses. He looked down at Snape, his eyes wet, his breath hitching with barely contained sobs, and felt a little of what he had first experienced when he pulled the other boy from the Shrieking Shack: an unexpected flicker of kindness.
James let go of the scissors and delivered a swift kiss to Snape's forehead as he stood up. "They'll never believe you, you know," James said as he straightened his robes. He looked down at Snape, who was slowly crawling to his feet. The Slytherin was clutching at his cloak, drawing it around his body like a bat. "You're hideous. Why would I ever touch you when I could have any girl in this school? You should feel lucky if someone like me raped you."
Snape didn't say anything. He kept his head down and gathered up his scattered belongings. A sniffle escaped from between that curtain of black hair.
"The thought of touching you was too disgusting for me to even go through with it. Better luck next time, Snivellus. Maybe there's someone out there desperate enough to want to get between your legs."
Snape ran, leaving behind pieces of torn parchment. James watched him go and then bent down to pick up his discarded cloak left lying hidden on the floor.