Fandom: Harry Potter

Fic Title: Irrevocable Oath

Author: Firesword

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters belong to JK Rowling. Just own the bit of muse.

Genre: Romance/Fantasy

Summary: HP/SS. Slash. Bound by a curse and taken as a prisoner, Severus could only lay helplessly on the bed and let Harry Potter care for him.

Rating: M (obviously rated thus for mature themes….)

Warnings: If you do not know already, this fic is of yaoi content, meaning homosexual love. If such a genre is not to your liking, please do not read. What else? Hmmmm...

Bits of angst, mystery, lime, hopefully not too much of a lemon, fluff, action & adventure, language….

Author's Notes: Even before I'd taken note of the reviewers' names, I'd clicked on the 'Delete Story' button. So forgive me! Anyways, there were some good reviews – which had pointed out the obvious 'rape' – which escaped me for some reason. So, I hope this new version – and very much extended – will be better.


The man with the heart of stone.

Or so he thinks of himself.

The exterior may have hardened toward life,

Still, the interior is longing for something.

Something warm. Something that is bright.

No matter how much he tries to deny himself,

his soul is determined to reach out.

His soul wants to be reached.

But is there anyone willing?

Is there?

Irrevocable Oath

By Firesword

Chapter One: The Prisoner


The sound seemed incredibly loud in his ears.


He snarled and cracked an eye open when the annoying sound came again.

Toink. Water dropped from the tap into the metallic sink. That meant only one thing.

Severus Snape would usually scowl menacingly - he was being kept here as a prisoner - but after three months had passed, he had grown curious instead.



Denied the freedom of movement, he could only move his head a little. Harry Potter, his face showing no emotion whatsoever, came to his side, and set the basin of water on the end table, a towel slung over his left shoulder. Then, propping him upright as he would to a doll, Harry started to undress him.

They had been doing this long enough for Severus to think of it as natural, and so had Harry. His movements were no longer hesitant or shy, like the first few times he had undertaken this task himself.

His hands moved about with a grace that Severus had just noticed. It must come from flying, Severus' mind suggested. Just like every part of his body, his hands were thin, lightly muscular, and very nimble. They were not gentle and not feminine. His fingertips were callused, and the unseen strength managed to speak for itself whenever Harry prodded his sometimes, abused body. Just then, Harry's fingers encountered a bump that should not have been there. Severus winced slightly at the pain. Harry must have felt him twitch because he frowned, and motioned at a floating candle to come closer. Right above his hip, was a blue-black bruise with its center coated with dried blood.

Severus watched as Harry's emerald eyes narrowed. The young man pulled at the towel hanging on his shoulder and dabbed a corner of it into the water. Then with more tenderness from than that Severus had expected, he wiped at the wound. The blood clot gradually flaked away bit by bit.

"Darrus glahk shahdur," Harry growled suddenly. Severus was certain that Harry was cursing in Parseltongue. Inconsequentially, he wondered if cursing in the strange language gave the wizard more satisfaction than cursing in the human tongue. He played the words in his mind. They sounded more guttural, more animalistic. It certainly sounded more bloodthirsty.

Harry had left him to go outside, but he returned several minutes later with something bulky on one hand and a bundle of cloth in another. The young wizard sat on the floor and as Severus looked on with amusement, started to grind several ingredients together. He had to admit that the brat was getting better in making a handy poultice. Of course, Severus was the cause of this frequent practice. Some Aurors couldn't just get by a day without poking sharp things into him.

The poultice was ready. Harry left it to stand while he resumed his previous task, which was to wash Severus. He carefully turned Severus onto his uninjured side and wiped his back with gentle strokes.


The water in the basin swished about as Harry rinsed the towel. There was a pause and he could almost taste the slight tension in the air. A hand rested on his bottom for a minute, long enough for Severus to know what Harry intended to do. Fingers came to part his cheeks, and then he felt the cool cloth slip between it. Is my face red, I wonder? Severus felt his face warm at the touches. If he could cringe, he would have, when he felt the hot breaths of the other man near his spine. Harry's fingers spread him wider and they touched him experimentally.

Finally, he heard Harry's sigh of relief. Although mortified, Severus felt a little strange that Harry had cared enough to make sure he was not violated down there. Not after the first time. Seeing Harry angry was not something new, but Harry in a deadly rage was. Why he would be in a deadly rage over Severus being violated, piqued him.

Wiping done, Harry started applying the poultice to his bruised body. Then he did something that Severus had fervently wished for anyone to do. Turning him over to lie on his stomach, Harry began to work on his tired, aching and cramped body. When those strong, deft hands moved to work on his lower back, Severus nearly cried with relief. Only if he dared. Those hands warmed him, and comforted him (though his mind shied away from that observation), and he fell asleep, unaware of those hands leaving him and dressing him up half an hour later.

Several hours after, he woke up to an unpleasant numbness in his ear, as though someone had plugged something uncomfortable into it. Muttering under his breath, Severus tried to shake the damned thing away, and then stopped. He strained his ear and his eyes widened in shock when he realized he could hear the conversation from outside the room where he was held captive.

What in the hell is that Gryffindor brat thinking of? He exploded in the safe silence of his consciousness. Just then, cacophony erupted and he winced.

"Ouch! Somebody help!"

A high-pitched scream assaulted his hearing.

"Damned bug!"

"No! No, Arthur! Use fire!"

"What-! Fire? No!"

Sound of struggles and heavy swearing followed. "-tits!"

"Watch your language!"

A man whimpered softly.

"Fred!" Molly Weasley shrieked in horror. "Put that thing down!"

"But Mum! It's the only way!"

"Fred! Don't - George!" Molly's voice went up an octave or so. Severus crinkled his brows in distaste - the woman sounded like a banshee. A dull bell-like sound drowned all the other noises. It faded, and Severus picked up hushed murmurs.

"Got the blasted bug," George Weasley announced with satisfaction. "Owww!"

"Get a healer, George," Molly instructed. "You might have broken his hipbone."

"The pincer is still stuck inside, dear."

"Oh dear. Well, no help for it. The healer just have to do something to get it out."

"Is that thing poisonous?" Severus recognized Ronald Weasley's voice though it had settled into a deep baritone.

"No, thankfully."

"Pity," whispered someone else.

Severus heard the scuffles of feet, and they sounded like they were just beyond the door.



"We don't mean to interfere-"

"-but did you set that thing on Rat-face?"

"Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't."

There were some snorts of amusement.

"Remind us never to cross you."


"Can we ask why you did it though?"

"The usual."


"You know, I don't understand why they need to do that."

"I dunno. To keep his mind preoccupied while they rummage around I suppose."

"That's sick."

"Isn't it?"

The conversation stopped as the door opened and Harry entered. He paused for several moments after closing the door, his emerald eyes studying Severus with grave calmness. Then he crossed the distance and tugged the earplug away from his ear. He pocketed the Weasley twins' invention, stared at him again and left.

Severus brooded. Now, why did Harry do that?