Disclaimer: I don't own it. I wish I did. I'm pretty sure that Snape and Harry are glad I don't though.
I don't remember the first time He touched me 'there', but I do remember the first time He made me touch Him in return. Dudley had just had his fifth birthday party, with loads of presents and cake and ice cream for a score of loud and obnoxious boys, but none for the Freak. I was locked away in my cupboard with orders to remain silent or face the Consequences.
The Consequences were always brutal, so I remained silent, listening to the other boys laughing and playing. I listened to Dudley whine and complain about the toys he had received as I clutched at the only toy I owned, a beaten up stuffed bear that I had snuck from the rubbish bin. I had to hide my bear whenever Aunt Petunia got me from the cupboard or else he'd have gone back into the rubbish, or worse, and I would have ended up facing Consequences. But at times like that, Bear was invaluable for keeping the hopelessness of my life from overwhelming me.
I hadn't yet started primary school, so I had never met any other kids besides Dudley then. I still had hopes that someday I might actually have a real friend. Of course, Dudley later proved me wrong about that. And then Ron Weasley drove the point home, but I am getting ahead of myself.
That night, He opened my cupboard door and beckoned me to come out. I was obedient. I didn't really like the way He touched me, but it was so much better than the alternative; at least when He touched me it didn't hurt.
He took me into the sitting room and I looked at the mess the other boys had left and knew that I would have to clean it all up the next day, but I set that thought aside for the time being. I carefully began removing my oversized, ratty clothes, having gone through this routine hundreds of times before, and folded them neatly on the chair before going to sit on His lap.
He caressed my face and hair for a few minutes while He mumbled incoherently about how ugly I was and how grateful I should be that He would take care of me, Freak that I was. And I was grateful, damn it. I was grateful for every kiss, every caress, and every touch that did not cause pain.
His hands, with fingers like the over-stuffed sausages that I was forced to prepare but never allowed to eat, moved from my head to my chest. He pinched my little nipples and I squirmed with discomfort, but knew better than to protest.
"You're nothing but a Freak and a whore," He whispered. I could smell the alcohol on his breath and it made me nauseous. "Say it. Say 'I'm nothing but a Freak and a whore."
I obediently repeated His words, not fully comprehending what they meant, but I knew that He was saying I was not loved and never would be. I knew that much even then.
His hands moved to my groin, His huge fingers playing with It and squeezing my bollocks until I could not hold back a squeak of pain. He only laughed.
"Touch me," He commanded. I looked up at him, not knowing what He meant. "My cock, you slut. Touch it!"
Cock. I knew that word. He'd used it often enough while playing with my body. I suppressed a shudder of revulsion and obediently placed my hand over the bulge in His trousers. He was much larger than I was, but smaller than I had expected Him to be, given His enormous body. He placed his hand over mine and began showing me just how to stroke Him, how to apply just the right amount of pressure.
This went on for what seemed like an eternity before He brushed my fingers away so He could fumble with the button and zipper of His trousers. When He had pulled his prick from His pants, He took my hand again and wrapped my fingers around Him. With His hand over mine, we began to stroke His cock together.
He continued muttering and cursing quietly, His breath becoming labored and His face sweaty, until He tensed up. Just then, white stuff erupted from His cock and He slumped back in his chair.
I went back into my cupboard soon after and hugged my Bear until sleep finally came.
"How long has he been like this?"
"For six months, give or take a couple weeks. All he does all day is sit and write. They make him go outside for a few hours everyday, but he brings that journal with him and sits under the same tree everyday scribbling away. Then they bring him inside and he hardly even notices. He just sits on his bed and writes until they turn the lights out and he cannot see to write anymore."
"And you just let him keep on like this? Have you read any of what he has written?"
"We've tried to, but he has heavy spells on the book and the last time someone tried to open it, they ended up in the emergency ward."
There was a glare of disdain. "Have you tried asking him to read it? Have you tried to talk to him at all? It sounds to me as though you would rather he was a basket case than deal with the consequences if he was allowed loose."
"I will do what you have called me here to do, but do not expect me to go along with the pitiful methods you have employed to date. I will see this young man healthy and free before the summer is out. Then you will have to deal with the reality of a wizard more powerful than Voldemort ever was. If I were you, Minister, I would not give him any reason to hate me."
It was a night almost two years later that He moved things on to the next level. He'd made me suck Him and stroke Him, but His touches never went beyond the light caresses and occasional kisses that He'd employed all along. I'm not sure what changed, but He was pissed that night. I could smell the alcohol seeping from His pores. That was never a good sign of things to come.
After I had been sucking Him for some time it became obvious that He'd had too much to drink and His cock was not going to cooperate. He became frustrated and pulled me over His lap, face down, telling me that it was my fault; I wasn't a good enough whore; I was too freakish; I was ugly.
While He mumbled His excuses He began to spank my bare ass. Slowly His diatribe changed and He began to tell me how pretty my ass was all pink and abused. He liked to see His hand print on my naked flesh.
When the spanking stopped, the caresses started. He rubbed my sore bum and I was grateful once more that the Consequences were finished. I wasn't sure how I had failed, but I knew it must have been my fault. I felt His cock begin to finally respond and was again grateful, knowing that the session would soon end. I thought I would be sent to my knees again to suck him off, but that didn't happen.
I knew better than to squirm no matter what He did to me, but I couldn't help the involuntary movement when His fat hands pushed my ass cheeks apart and I felt Him spit on my hole. It was slimy and wet and uncomfortable, but it just got worse. One of His fat fingers began rubbing His saliva around the hole and finally pushed inside of me. I wanted to cry out. This was wrong. So very wrong. And it hurt. A lot.
His finger slowly worked its way up my ass and He wiggled it around for a minute. I could tell He was trying to do something, to provoke some response from me, but didn't have a clue what He expected, so I remained silent and still. Then I felt Him pull His finger out and thought maybe He was done. He wasn't. He spit again and this time shoved two fingers inside of me, I could barely hold in the scream of pain. I think I may have grunted, but He didn't acknowledge the noise, I so thought I was safe.
The fingers disappeared and He pulled me roughly upright. I was sitting on His lap, facing away from Him. He raised me up by the hips and slowly lowered me again. This time, I felt His cock at my hole; it felt much larger there than it did in my small hand or in my mouth. This time I could not hold back the cry of pain. It felt like He was tearing me in half. He covered my mouth with one of His beefy hands and told me to ride His cock like I was riding a horse.
For the next minutes, He panted heavily while I raised and lowed myself on His cock, sobbing into His hand the entire time. My legs were trembling with the exertion and with the pain of having something so large inside of me. He twisted his free hand in my hair and whispered filthy things in my ear that I tried to block out. I still hear those words in my dreams.
"Take it you fucking Freak. You are such a whore. No will ever love you when they know what you are. You are only good for this, slut. And you know it."
I did know it. I do know it.
I may have grown up and finally gotten away from that place, but a part of me will always be that whore. I may have changed the who and the how, but I'm still whoring myself out. I can be whatever you want me to be; whore or hero; it's all the same in the end, isn't it?
He came inside of me and shoved me to the floor. I could feel spunk and blood dripping from my ass, down my legs. I curled up into a ball and sobbed some more.
"Get out of my sight, sniveling whore," He commanded. I knew better than to stick around. I crawled to my cupboard and was relieved to hear the lock slide into place a few minutes later. I held Bear and cried myself to sleep.
The next morning, Aunt Petunia found Bear and tore him to shreds before sending me to the back porch to be hosed down. She said I was filthy.
Harry didn't look up or acknowledge the other person, but his pen paused for a moment before he began scribbling again. He ignored the man's presence as thoroughly as he ignored the cold damp December ground below him or the icy wind around them.
"Harry, do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?"
Again the pen paused. This time the brunette looked up into the other man's eyes.
"I'm not crazy."
"No? Perhaps not."
"Why are you here?"
"They asked me to come and help you."
Harry scowled and went back to writing.
"They are afraid of me. They should be. They used me and then locked me away when I wouldn't be what they expected from their hero. Bastards. I'm done being their whore!"
The once peaceful air began to swirl around them ominously and magic crackled like electricity.
"You don't have to be anyone's whore, Harry. Let me help you."
The wind stilled again, just as suddenly as it had arisen.
"Why would you want to help me?"
"Because I can? No? Then maybe there is something you can do for me. An equal trade."
"What can I do for you?" There was suspicion in his eyes now as he looked over his companion.
"Many things. You are a very powerful wizard, Harry. I think we can work together to meet both of our needs."
Harry looked again and finally nodded slowly.
"Okay. Where are my friends? Where are the others who were supposed to help me?"
"They are gone, Harry. In one way or another, they are all gone. I am the only one left."
Harry nodded at Snape and went back to writing.
I didn't cry again after that night. I got Consequences the next day because I had snotted all over His hand, so I knew that to cry was a very bad thing. I didn't cry when Bear was taken, and I didn't cry when He fucked me again before I was even healed from the first time.
I didn't cry when He started taking me out to other men's houses and letting them stick their cocks in me.
I was strong and brave. No wonder they put me in Gryffindor.
I went to school everyday, and almost every night I was taken to some house with some man. Some of them were gentle and prepared me. Others were rough and liked it when I screamed. I began to know which was which, giving them exactly what they wanted.
He took money from the men and told me I was finally earning my keep.
By the time my letter from Hogwarts arrived, I was truly the whore He had always called me. He didn't want me going off to school. He wanted me with Him, serving His needs and earning a nice living for Him on the side. At eleven years old, I was at the prime of my sexual career. The customers wouldn't pay as much for an older boy. I could only bring in the top money for a few more years.
But Hagrid showed up and took me away to a world of magic. I thought all of my prayers had been answered. I quickly learned the truth. That world wanted to use me just as much as He did. Dumbledore was the worst of them. Setting me up time and again to face down an evil Dark Lord as an ill-prepared, uneducated child. But I knew better than to complain. I knew what Consequences were at home, but I feared magical Consequences even more.
So I pretended to be exactly what they wanted me to be. Just like the men He brought me to, I gave them all exactly what they wanted. I was the boy-hero.
And every summer, I went home to be the boy-whore.
Harry liked this place. It was much better than St. Mungo's. Here he could come and go as he pleased, as long as he stayed within the wards. Since the wards encompassed over forty acres of fields and forest, there was no problem there. He would spend long hours just walking through the woods, or sitting beside the stream. He still wrote in his journal, but it wasn't as all consuming as it had once been.
Today he was sitting in the garden while Snape tended to his spring plantings. He used the plants in the potions he brewed for Harry and for the many owl orders he received.
Snape had explained that this was why he had been asked to help Harry. He had been working on several potions known to help those suffering from severe depression and other emotional disorders. Snape had returned to the Ministry after their first talk and had given them his conditions. He would help Harry, but only if they put Harry into his custody. Happy to be rid of the responsibility for their crazy savior, the Minister had signed the appropriate documents right away, and Harry had come here the next day.
The two men rarely talked, but when they did, it was usually pleasant and polite. Harry looked up at his ex-professor and watched him wipe a bead of sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt before striding over to join Harry under the pear tree.
"What is it that you write in that journal all of the time?" Snape asked.
"Memories," Harry said. "I thought about trying to get it published but then I realized that the world will never want to know the truth."
"Can I read it sometime?"
Harry shrugged. "If you want."
"I do want."
Harry handed him the book and felt like he was giving up a piece of his soul. But he knew this man, who had always been there to save him would keep it safe.
Ron wanted me to be a hero but resented it when I was. He resented every good thing that ever happened to me, not that there were many, and conveniently forgot about all of the shit I had to go through the rest of the time.
But he was my best friend and I wanted him to love me and accept me, so I tried really hard to be what he wanted. I turned away other potential friends on his say-so. I slacked off in my studies because that's what he did. I tried to love Quidditch, because he did.
It was never enough.
Just before our last year at Hogwarts, he let Percy convince him to take the Dark Mark. He was in the perfect position to get to me, to kidnap me or kill me. He accepted the promises of glory and wealth if he could only do this one small thing. And so my best friend sold me out to my worst enemy.
Ron failed in his mission. He was to stun me and use a portkey to take me to Voldemort the night before our NEWT exams began. Hermione caught him. He never was the brightest boy. When given a second to think about his options, he chose to return to Voldemort without me rather than face Azkaban. His body was found at the school gates the next morning.
With his death, I lost more than just my best friend. I lost my adoptive family, who blamed me for his choices, no matter how irrational that may have been.
I also lost Hermione.
She was never the same after his death. She blamed herself for letting him get away. She thought that she might have been able to do something to help him. She also found out that she was pregnant two weeks after he died. They were to have gotten married that summer. Not even the prospect of the new life growing inside of her could pull her out of her depression and downward spiral. When the baby finally came, the healers said it was almost as if she willed herself to die. She gave birth, but never got to hold her son.
Of course, I never got to hold him either. The Weasleys took him to live with them and never allow me near him. It doesn't matter that she wanted me to be his godfather. It doesn't matter that he was named after me. They blamed me for Ron and now they blame me for Hermione too. When Percy was sentenced to Azkaban, I didn't even bother to look in their direction. I knew what I would find.
Severus could hardly believe what he was reading. He had seen some of Harry's memories during those ill-fated Occlumency lessons so long ago, but he'd never stumbled across anything like this. It was amazing that the boy was not completely broken.
Sure he was a bit bruised right now, but he was getting better every day.
He looked out the kitchen window to see Harry sitting idly by the stream, running lazy fingers through the cool water. He could hear the boy's melodic tenor voice singing a hauntingly beautiful song to nobody in particular. Harry sang often these days, allowing the music to heal his soul. Severus loved to listen to him sing, as the songs seemed to heal a part of him as well.
The words seemed to float on the warm late-summer breeze and wrap around Severus as he continued to watch the slowly healing young man.
Listen as the wind blows
from across the great divide
voices trapped in yearning
memories trapped in time
The night is my companion
and solitude my guide
would I spend forever here
and not be satisfied
And I would be the one to hold you down
kiss you so hard I'll take your breath away
and after I'd wipe away the tears
just close your eyes dear
Through this world I've stumbled
so many times betrayed
trying to find an honest word
to find the truth enslaved
Oh you speak to me in riddles and
you speak to me in rhymes
my body aches to breathe your breath
you words keep me alive...*
There was such pain and hope in that voice that Severus found himself drawn to the young man, already half way to his side before realizing he was even moving. Harry caught sight of the shadow above him and smiled shyly at the man who had saved him once again.
"I'm sorry if I disturbed you."
"You did not disturb me."
Severus sat down on the grass beside Harry and silently took his hand. The silence enveloped them like a comfortable old sweater. They stayed there together until the sun had set.
The war was just one long nightmare from which I could never wake. Dumbledore died early on, giving Voldemort confidence of his eventual success. He didn't count on Snape taking me away that summer to train. Severus' cover was blown when a spy in the Order gave up that particular information. No one could have guessed that Romelda Vane would turn traitor. She was killed in the final battle.
For months the Order struggled to maintain some sense of focus after losing their leader and spiritual guide. I think Severus was the most affected. He'd looked up to Dumbledore like a father, despite the way he continually used the spy. My issues with Dumbledore aside, I hated the way he treated Snape. How any man could continually send a man he claimed to love like a son out to face mortal peril is beyond my comprehension. If you love someone, you protect them at all costs.
Like Snape has always done for me.
"When you came to get me from the hospital, you said that there was something I could do for you. What did you mean?"
Severus looked up from the morning paper at his companion who was staring out the kitchen window at the leaves falling from the trees in the garden. What had he meant? At the time he'd only thought to give the boy a reason to talk to him, but it was obvious that Harry would never be comfortable simply accepting help. There had always been strings attached to anything good that came his way. Severus understood that feeling.
He'd never been given anything for free either.
"When the time is right, I will let you know."
When I went home for the summer after my seventh year at the insistence of the old man, it was to find that my usefulness had worn out. For the past several summers I had noticed a decline in the number of customers calling for my services. He became more and more frustrated by the lack of income, often taking them out on me. The caresses came less often and the Consequences came more frequently.
Then I couldn't do it anymore. I woke up one morning and realized that I simply couldn't do it for one more minute. I couldn't be what everyone wanted me to be. I couldn't be a slave or a whore. I couldn't be a hero. It wasn't worth it. The Consequences still came if I pretended or not. I still lost my only friends. I still had to face a madman. I still felt the lick of the whip against my back.
I walked out the door that morning with only the clothes on my back and my wand in my hand. I sent Hedwig away. I still do not know what became of her. That is my greatest regret in all of this. She did not deserve that from me.
I walked away from Privet Drive and away from every expectation others had of me. I ended up in the park down the way. I sat on an empty swing in the empty park and concentrated every ounce of magic in me on the connection between Voldemort and me. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, there he was, five meters in front of me, looking as startled as I felt. It had worked.
I don't remember much of what we said to each other then, but I know it was not a pleasant conversation. Mostly we yelled at each other while hurling hexes. His mania was no match for my rage in the end; I don't know what spell I used, or even if it was a spell at all, but I tore him apart. Literally.
When the Aurors came, they saw the body parts before I could cast a burning charm, but were not fast enough to recover anything. I saved the head for them. I thought they might want proof that he was dead. Of course, I removed the brain first and burned that as well. I figured, no sense leaving anything that could be used to reanimate him. I banished his ashes to the North Sea, and insisted on presenting the head to the Minister of Magic personally.
That is the reason I ended up in St. Mungo's. Or at least most of the reason. The rest of it is that they are scared shitless of me now. I did what they asked, and now they are afraid of me. Bloody fucking wankers.
They were lying in the bed they had been sharing for the last two months, enjoying the sight of the first snow through the bedroom window. It was almost a year to the day since Severus had gone to St. Mungo's. The potions master held Harry tightly to his chest and ghosted a kiss to his temple.
"Severus, what did you want from me that first day in the hospital?"
Severus paused. Harry fidgeted.
"This. Us. You and I snuggled together, keeping each other warm and safe, healing together. Although I'm not sure I knew it at the time. I wanted to love you and I wanted you to love me."
"Mmm. That's lovely. I do, you know. Love you."
They were both silent for a time, watching the snow fall in fat wet flakes.
"I finished my memoirs."
"Oh? How do they end?"
"Much better than they started out."
Harry turned to smile at Severus. Severus caught his lips in a brief kiss.
"So it ended with you being madly, deliriously blissful?"
"No...Content. Loved. Secure. Happy."
"Mmm. Even better."
*"Possession" by Sarah McLachlan