Bodies Are For Taking
(AN: Not my normal thing, but I was dared. I don't lose. So I hope you two are happy. And this is quite…sexual. More than I thought it would be. And it's quite frank. Compared to IPC, it's practically porn. XD And dark. Basically this isn't a story for squeamish people. Flames will be ignored, and probably laughed about.
WARNINGS: Sort of non-con sex (slash). Very frank language about sex. Bad words. Making Dumbledore a bit of a dick. Loving Severus too much. OC Voldemort – debatably. Who knows what he's really like? Character death.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Severus, Voldemort, Dumbledore or the Harry Potter world. Believe me, if I did, Snape would have been sexually abused by Voldemort, then fell in love with Harry, and lived to have children with him by some magically means. Basically taking away every illusion of PG-ness from the franchise. Plus everyone would have lived. Maybe not Voldemort…)
Severus shut his eyes from the sight of the red ones, just inches from his own. He had learned early on that it was better not to look; that way he could lose himself in the slide of skin and forget just whose skin it was. His Lord, his master, was a talented lover, but Severus could not look into those eyes.
Voldemort hissed. Severus felt his lips smash against his own, and kissed back, trying to keep up. His master was an impatient lover, and a rough one.
Voldemort used sex to his advantage, as a power trip. Severus was just forced along. Sometimes, when the Dark Lord left him alone in his bed late at night, he was disgusted with himself for wanting the contact, craving Voldemort's body, loving the connection he fantasized they had. And perhaps for loving the creature that had once been Tom Riddle.
The Dark Lord was not one for foreplay, and soon Severus felt himself being stretched, then his master slammed in. He cried out in pain, but he had come to expect it. There was no reprieve, no matter how much he screamed.
Severus craved his Lord's touch, the inane feeling of safety that went along with it. When the Dark Lord would leave him, he would retch as he showered, hating himself, wanting out, but never being able to leave. He was dragged back, night after night, and he loved it.
He loved the Dark Lord.
Severus realized the Dark Lord, his master, was abusing him, taking control of a man powerless to stop it, emotionally damaged and hurt. He couldn't tell, he wouldn't tell – this was his secret; he didn't want people in his head any longer.
Voldemort seemed to sense that his lover's thoughts were not in the act, so he tugged on the organ that was sure to bring Severus back to earth. The Dark Lord teased him, refusing Severus the release he craved. Severus knew what he wanted. His master wanted him to beg, lose his dignity – cry if he could. Severus was happy to do it.
Severus's mews of pleasure, despite the Dark Lord's attempts to keep the enjoyment one sided, were mixed with pleas and curses. He twisted on the bed, trying to make the invading organ touch the one spot he desired. The Dark Lord had practice in this art, and Severus was unable to gain the blinding pleasure he so craved.
His master whispered a quiet spell, and for a moment, Severus stiffened, afraid of the Cruciatus. When he didn't feel the blinding pain, he relaxed, then realized he didn't feel anything.
Ah. Sensory deprivation. He was used to this as well. At times, his master would leave him like this for days after he left, and Severus would stomp around, frustrated and angry, craving release at the hands of his lover. He was never angry with Voldemort, his oftentimes-abuser. He felt that he himself had done something wrong. His students, along with the teachers, didn't understand why he acted this way, but they came to expect the days when he would skip classes and stay in his room, trying to get through the spell, but never taking it off. He had learned that lesson long ago.
The Dark Lord continued with his pleasure. Severus tried to move through the fog to feel something, anything, but he couldn't. The sensory deprivation always drove him insane. He pleaded with his master, but he was too lost in the man's pale skin and tight ass to hear anything.
When Voldemort had finished with Severus, he took the spell off. Severus sobbed at the sudden flood of feelings, some good and some painful. He didn't bother focusing on the pain because he was so enthralled with the sensations his master's hand were causing.
Severus came quickly. He was still sobbing from the pain, but he couldn't help the thanks that poured from his lips. Severus was a man possessed, a man enthralled with his abuser.
His master, his lover, his love, leaned down to ravish that beautiful, tear-stained face. There was no compassion, no apologies, and no sympathy.
Voldemort dressed. Severus admired the way he seemed not to be embarrassed. The Potions master could do nothing in front of his master without feeling inadequate, or fearing that he appeared silly – or worse, infatuated. For Severus must hide his absurd love. Voldemort exploited love, he exploited sex, and he would exploit Severus – more than he already was, that is – if the bitter man couldn't hide his feelings.
His master straightened his robes with a quick spell. His eyes roved back over Severus, staying the longest on the darkest bruises, the most painful bites, and the blood staining the once pristine sheets. His body shook as his master leaned forward to touch, just once more.
His fingers moved along the map of marks that would fuel Severus's shame for days. He wouldn't dare to heal them. His lover was possessive. Those marks were his, and taking them away was asking for the Cruciatus. He would wear long sleeves to classes, and if Dumbledore asked, they were from torture. It wasn't far from the truth.
The Dark Lord whispered dirty nothings in his ear, and Severus couldn't help his reaction. He wanted this man – or what was once a man – to come back into bed and let Severus hold him, and never let go.
Severus was disgusted with himself.
When the Dark Lord was content that Severus had been sufficiently ravished, he Apparated away. Severus showered, wishing he could wash away all memories of the encounter. He scrubbed roughly, wanting the marks to disappear. He couldn't reach the area deep inside him to wash it clean. His heart could use a thorough purging.
The next morning was always the hardest. He was forced to report to Dumbledore. The meddling old man believed he could solve everything, if only he had all the facts. Severus told him repeatedly to stay out of his life, and out of his mind, but the man knew something was wrong.
He arrived in Dumbledore's office and declined to sit. The man circled him. He involuntarily shuddered. Voldemort had taken everything from him – even his ability to be comfortable with a man standing behind him.
Albus spoke, but Severus cut him off. He didn't want to hear his sympathy, his questions. He informed him that he had nothing to report, and swept out. He pretended he didn't hear him calling.
Potions class was the place where he was in control. None of these students could force him to do anything. He was in his element.
He succeeded that day in making a first year Hufflepuff cry. He looked at her with disdain. She didn't know the meaning of sadness, of pain.
He cleaned up her melted cauldron with a wave of his wand. None of these students was worth his time.
He skipped lunch and showered again. He was disgusted with himself. He wanted to Apparate to Voldemort. He wanted last night again. He wanted to hold him, to love him, and to be loved back.
He sat down on his bed with his head in his hands. Life…it was worthless. He was in love with a maniac who didn't know the meaning of love, and would never learn. His only other love was dead, and she wasn't coming back. Severus had no point to his existence, no purpose. He may be a spy, but Voldemort was powerful. Severus had a suspicion that evil would win out in the end, and that the Dark Lord would win. Eventually, Severus would be found out as a spy, and he would die. Snape was not a religious man, but he believed deeply in an evil presence in the world – he was in love with what he believed to be a prodigy of the same presence.
He had no doubt there was a special spot in Hell waiting for him.
Voldemort lounged elegantly in a chair – no, it was a throne. He was king of this dominion, and his subjects were all deathly afraid of him. His eyes roved over his assembled Death Eaters, noting with displeasure Severus's absence.
He watched the eyes of the men and women in his audience, feeling the power that came from being able to terrify people with a single glance. The people who dared to stare back at him deserved the most respect, but few bothered. He saw Bellatrix, tense with anxiety. She was a dangerous one, too willing to please. She harbored a special dislike for Severus because of the sexual position he held for the Dark Lord. She would be only too willing to fill it.
Her husband didn't dare to look up at his master. Loyal, perhaps, but frustratingly simple. The Dark Lord twirled his wand delicately between his long fingers, debating the pros and cons of killing him now. Eventually his eyes swept on.
He skipped over the majority of his followers, knowing them to be sufficiently terrified without a spectacle. None of them possessed the devotion he craved – no one in attendance tonight.
He cast an irritated glance at Malfoy, who seemed to be whispering to his wife, the whiny woman. Malfoy took a step away from her, and bowed his head in submission.
Voldemort knew that no one here was really here; they were already in the field, doing his bidding, or they were at home, safe in their beds with their wives or their whores. He shot a Cruciatus at one of the younger men in the group, a whelp whose name he hadn't bothered to learn. The young boy had no control over himself, and screamed like a child. Was this the recruits his power brought in nowadays? These men broke under pressure and gave away his dark secrets too easily; they were useless.
As he lifted the curse off the young man, he was pleased to see that no one helped him up, and a few stared openly at the show. He raised a hand to Bellatrix, who pocketed her wand with a sneer at the boy.
The Dark Lord had no real assignment for his legion tonight; he just wanted havoc. He released them with full reign, fully expecting at least one to die by morning. He called Lucius back, and the blond man came hastily, if not willingly, to his side.
"Your son – when will he be joining us, Lucius?"
He swallowed heavily, and attempted to explain why he hadn't brought Draco along yet, but Voldemort tuned him out. He watched Lucius grovel with distaste, and wished, not for the first time that night, that Severus was here as well.
"Lucius, cease your flattery. Tell me – you have insight as to Hogwarts. Where is Severus tonight?"
The man's lips twitched down into a frown. "I cannot pretend to have any idea where he is."
"Lucius. The men – they seem to have an…aversion to Severus. Perhaps you could explain that to me."
He ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips. "My lord, it is nothing against Snape-"
"Against me, perhaps?"
Lucius was clearly scrambling. He was a decent Legilimens, but not good enough that the Dark Lord couldn't break his shields, and he sensed that. "Not precisely, my Lord."
"'Not precisely', Lucius? Explain."
He looked up at his master, at the wand that knew how to cause pain, cause death. His fists clenched and unclenched as he thought. "Some of the men…dislike the idea of our master having any sort of relationship with a man."
The Dark Lord's thin lips compressed. "Lucius, I shall do what I wish. Come here."
Lucius cocked his head in confusion, and his master gestured. When the man didn't move, he Crucio'd him – just slightly, but enough that when it was lifted he came to his master and kneeled where he was told.
His master placed his long fingers on the thin face, and he brushed a blond piece of hair out of his eyes. "You should make it very clear to the men that what I do with Severus is none of their concern – and if it continues to be, it will end badly for them."
The blond man nodded, swallowing heavily, wishing for the fingers to leave his face. Voldemort considered ravishing that wonderful body, but Severus's face appeared in his mind. For a reason he couldn't fathom, he shoved Lucius away. "Go."
Malfoy understood a reprieve when he was given one, and he wasted no time in leaving the Dark Lord's presence.
When he was alone, he grimaced. And those men called themselves his devoted followers. They were worthless – apart from Severus.
Why must everything come back to Severus? The man was utterly dependent on Voldemort. There was no doubt about the fact that the young Potions was in love with him. How, the Dark Lord didn't know. The young man wanted to be close to him, wanted to sleep with him, wanted to be accepted by him. Even after the abuse that Voldemort rained down on him, the man never stopped wanting it.
If he admitted it to himself, Severus was one of the few sexual encounters he had ever had. School girls had been interested, but he hadn't been interested in them. There had been that one boy, but that was just one more piece of evidence in the trial he would have to face, if he was ever caught. Killing the boy had been a mercy after all he'd done to him.
He was sexually dependent on Snape. The nights they shared were pure pleasure, even if they constituted as abuse. Severus fit the abuse victim position to a T. He was a broken man, but he kept coming back.
Voldemort felt no shame at taking advantage of Severus.
The door banged open suddenly, and Voldemort saw Severus, breathing heavily, appear. He approached his sitting master with his head lowered.
When he was close enough, the Dark Lord grabbed Severus's hair and gave him a kiss that left both of them breathless. As he checked the marks that he'd given Severus last time they had been together, he considered sending him out to meet with the rest of the men, but when he heard Severus's gasp at the sensations the long fingers were giving him, he didn't dare let the man go.
When the Death Eaters came back the next morning, per Voldemort's instruction, they found a shirtless Severus sitting at their master's feet, covered in bite marks and fingernail scratches. His head was resting on one of the Dark Lord's legs, and he was slowly swirling his finger around Snape's Adam's apple. None of them dared to say a word.
Severus slowly opened his eyes when he heard the commotion, fully aware of how he must look. For now, he was happy to be with his master, where everyone could see them. He tried to listen to the destruction that his colleagues had caused, but Voldemort's long fingers kept him occupied. His eyes slid back shut.
Voldemort wondered why he hadn't bothered asking Severus where he'd been. The man could have been telling Dumbledore everything – the Aurors might have shown up at any moment. But he had simply taken Severus in open arms. Bodies are for taking, he supposed. He controlled this man.
Or did he?
Perhaps this man really controlled him. He shot a look down at the man below him, and then noticed the rest of the Death Eaters staring. He sent them away.
Severus must have heard the Death Eaters leave, but he didn't bother reopening his eyes. The next time they went on a raid, he would be left out of the information; he was sure of that.
He felt Voldemort's fingers dip lower, and his body stirred. He was tired and in pain, but he still kissed back enthusiastically when the Dark Lord leaned down.
Dumbledore watched as Severus staggered back inside the castle walls. He had been missing all night, and it was nearly dinnertime the next day. He was just happy to see Severus was able to walk. He left his office swiftly and waited for Severus at the door. When the Potions master swished past him, he attempted to catch his arm, but Severus shook him off. He followed him relentlessly, but when the man slammed the door to his classroom, the Headmaster gave him his privacy. There was always tomorrow.
Severus took a seat in the Headmaster's office the next morning. He shook his head when Albus offered him lemon drops, and stared blankly back at him.
Albus sighed. "Severus, my boy, what is the matter? You come back later and later from Voldemort and the marks on your body are getting worse. Is he torturing you?"
Snape inclined his head. "In a way, Albus."
"Severus, you must tell me! I wish to help you, but I can do nothing without the information you have." Albus stood and walked around his desk, conjuring a chair to sit very near Severus, their knees almost touching.
Albus noted Snape's unconscious drawing back, as far from Albus as possible. He kept his arms pulled in close to his body, under the pretext of having his hands in his lap, but Albus saw the nearly imperceptible shaking as he twisted his fingers. "Severus, what is the matter?"
When Severus looked back at Albus, his eyes told of the sorrow he refused to say, for the sake of pride. "It is nothing I cannot handle, Albus. Nothing that I do not…understand." And perhaps wish for, at times.
Albus disliked using Legilimency forcefully, but if Severus wasn't going to tell him, he would find out. Severus fought back, obviously, but Albus calmed him with a wordless spell. There was a large block in the back of Severus's mind, and Albus moved his consciousness towards it. He checked it for holes, and hit it at what seemed to be a corner. Severus thrashed in the real world, attempting to reach his wand to break the spell he was under, but Albus barely registered him. He drew out of Snape's mind, shaking with rage.
As soon as Severus was free, he stood and left the room – if it was anyone but Snape, it would be called fleeing. Albus paced his room, both reviewing the memories he had stole from Snape's mind and wishing to forget him. He placed a copy in his Pensieve as soon as he had calmed himself.
For all the atrocities Voldemort had committed, somehow Dumbledore had never imagined that he could abuse a man sexually over such a long period of time, especially a man like Severus. Even more shocking was the feelings Severus associated with the memories – there was shame, yes, but he kept an almost jealous devotion with those memories.
Albus sighed. Snape was being abused, but he seemed to almost…enjoy it. There was a romantic feel ingrained in the memories, as strange as that seemed to Albus.
After serious thoughts on the matter, Dumbledore concluded that Severus thought himself in love with Voldemort, as repelling as the idea seemed to Albus. Voldemort couldn't have qualities that made Severus think he was in love with him, could he?
When he went looking for Severus to confront him about what he'd seen in his mind, he found Snape was not in the Potions classroom, or his quarters, or the library, or any of his usual haunts. He found Mr. Filch, who informed him that Severus had left the castle in a rush, even going so far as to knock Argus over physically to get out. Albus had no idea if he had been called back to Voldemort, or if he had simply left to avoid Dumbledore. It was all a waiting game now.
Severus stalked off Hogwarts' grounds angrily, clenching and unclenching his fists. That fucking Albus Dumbledore! He would never leave him alone again.
He had no real idea of where he was going, but he knew he had to get away. He stomped past a few first years who had slipped out for some quality alone time. They stared openly when he didn't say a word – they gained a sort of notoriety as the only students not to be punished by Professor Snape.
Severus walked out of the wards, and felt the change. The magical energy in the air was gone. He stopped and thought. Where was he going to go? Certainly Hogwarts was not an option at the moment. Being Voldemort's whore was all fine and well, but without an invitation? Severus openly admitted to himself that he was afraid.
He pulled up his sleeve, as if he wouldn't have noticed the burning. His Dark Mark was still obvious, but it didn't have the bright color that meant his master was calling.
Severus fisted his hands and paced. He was in no danger here – it helped to have footholds in both sides of the war. But eventually Albus would find him. Severus had no desire to live on the run for the rest of his life. He took a step towards the Hogwarts' grounds, and then a step away.
The decision was made for him when two Aurors grabbed him physically and started dragging him back to the school. Despite his thin stature, he had enough strength to plant his feet. It got the Aurors attention, but they had more weight behind them. Severus cleared his throat calmly.
"As if you wizards could stop me in a fair duel."
They ignored him. He twisted his shoulders, trying to get to his wand in his pocket, but they tightened their grip.
Students stared openly as the most terrifying teacher in school was dragged through the foyer. There seemed to be a sort of school wide chess tournament going on. He sighed.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw for staring – and ten from Slytherin for not taking advantage of their distraction." That would show those goodie-two-shoes to watch their pieces, not him.
Eventually, as all wizards will, the Aurors tired of physical labor and floated Severus to Albus's office. He sneered at his inconvenient position when he was left floating in the middle of the room. Albus gently floated Severus back to the ground, and Snape immediately headed for the door. He was unable to open it physically, so he reached for his wand, only to see it in Dumbledore's hand. He swore loudly.
"Severus, please! This is most unlike you."
He sneered. "How so, Albus? What makes you think you have any idea of who I am?"
Albus's eyes darkened slightly. "It's simply that you are being-"
"Impulsive? Emotional? Angry? You bastard! Do you think for a minute that I don't have a reason to be?"
Albus watched Severus's chest heave, and opened his mouth to speak.
"I don't want to hear it, Albus! My whole life has been a fucking mistake!"
Albus started. It was most unlike Severus to swear.
"Abused and neglected from birth, only to come here and be tortured by Potter and his delinquent friends! And then to watch Lily marry that- Then the Dark Lord- You've seen it, the memories; you know what happened, still happens-"
Albus saw the way Snape's hand strayed to his Dark Mark as he thought of the Dark Lord. "Severus!"
His chest heaved, and his eyes darted back and forth – he looked mad. "And then I have to want it, to wish for it! I'm a cosmic joke, and I deserve to be dead!"
He suddenly rushed the large window. Albus started, thinking he was going to jump, but Snape simply beat his fists against the glass, perhaps unable to get out.
His head dropped against the sill, suddenly ashamed of his tirade. Albus stood and walked to the man, dropping his hand on his shoulder. Severus jerked away, and Albus took a step back. The man fell to his knees. He dragged his left sleeve up again, almost touching the Mark, but not daring. Albus fought the revulsion he felt at the Mark, and took a step closer.
Dumbledore put Snape's wand on the sill near his head and sat down. "Severus, eventually you must speak to me."
He smiled dryly. "What did I just do, Albus?" He had regained control of himself, and he pocketed his wand.
"No, no, I understand. Communication, not screaming."
Albus smiled slightly. "What are you going to do, Severus?"
He stared at Albus. "What am I going to do? The same thing I've been doing for years. Sleep with Voldemort, report the information to you, despise myself, and eventually die. I don't think there is another option."
Albus walked back to the window. "You are willing to do that?"
"I've already destroyed my chance at happiness; why not?"
"Severus…I hate to ask this, but…how committed are you to bringing Voldemort down?"
Snape flinched. Albus backtracked. "I'm sorry, that was crossing the line-"
"No, no." Snape sighed. He straightened his back and took a seat in the chair across from Dumbledore's desk. Albus sat down as well. "It's a good question."
"It's just that- when you mention loving Voldemort, I have to wonder if you're willing to do what is necessary."
"It's a complicated sort of love, Albus."
Severus chuckled darkly. "No, you don't."
Albus' cheeks flushed slightly. "I apologize, I do not. Help me to, Severus."
"The only way to understand is to be me, and to be abused by the Dark Lord."
"Don't be childish, Severus." Albus watched as Snape scrubbed at a particularly nasty look bite mark on his neck with the back of his hand. Severus caught him looking, and one side of his mouth lifted up.
"Despite all the horrible things that…man has done to me, the marks he gives still make me shiver."
"I may not know the feeling of being abused, Severus, but I do know the feeling of being in love."
Severus nodded slowly, but frowned. "Not of being in love with the most hated man in the Wizarding world, and of hating him yourself."
Albus nodded slowly. The two men stared back at each other, each thinking deeply.
Albus, to his dismay, was thinking as a leader should – how could he use Severus's position to his advantage?
Severus found himself watching his Dark Mark, thinking about his master.
Albus was startled when Severus suddenly clapped his right hand over his left forearm.
Severus's first response was uncontrollable glee, then deep sorrow at the burning of the Dark Mark. He stood and quickly headed for the door, glad to see that it swung open for him.
Albus had to frown at the flash of glee that had appeared in Severus's eyes. He sighed, carefully watching out his window to see the dark man hurry across the grounds. Dumbledore watched him until he disappeared.
Severus had no time to waste when he landed, because the Dark Lord immediately kissed him. He looked around quickly, and saw that he was in the bedroom he was used to, and that they were alone. He sighed into his partner's mouth, and let himself be dragged to the bed.
The Dark Lord forced Severus on top of him. Severus tried to do what his master wanted, but he could tell from the blinding Cruciatus that he was far from satisfactory.
When he came to, he saw that the Dark Lord hadn't waited for him to wake to get the pleasure Severus could give him. He was relieved and upset that he hadn't been conscious for the act.
The Dark Lord's long tongue swirled around Severus's belly button, and Severus found himself aroused again. He hated himself for admitting it, but with the way his master was moving, he had already forgiving him for all he his abuse – just like always.
Severus fell asleep later, somehow content.
Voldemort watched Severus sleep.
Voldemort was, at least mostly, a man. He had sexual needs that had to be filled – perhaps his form of arousal was deviant from most, and he liked inflicting pain more than he ought to, but it was still arousal. That was healthy.
What was not healthy was to be so devoted to one man.
Severus was not handsome. He had no personality traits that attracted women – or men. He was a repulsive being and only good for spying and dueling, not sex.
Even as the Dark Lord told himself those lies, he felt his stomach clench. He frowned at the unexpected physiological reaction, but he persevered. Severus was nothing – he was utterly unremarkable. His stomach flipped. He cast an anti-nausea spell, and looked back at Severus. His face was quite ugly, and his cock? Nothing to write home about. He cast an irritated look at his stomach, which was still flipping around, and got ready to cast the spell again.
Then he realized something.
He was lying.
His lip curled at this show of weakness. Affection, for someone like Snape? Affection was for the things that kept you alive, not the bodies you used for pleasure.
Was Severus keeping him alive?
No. Obviously not. Sex never saved anyone's life.
It was pleasant, certainly – what else would one expect from sex with a man like Severus? Despite his lies, the Dark Lord knew that, if he had someone to write home to, he would be writing about Severus.
Voldemort did not do affection, and he certainly did not do butterflies in his stomach when he looked at Snape.
Love was not a word in Voldemort's vocabulary.
But perhaps he ought to learn it.
He immediately smashed the thought down. He was Voldemort – no one was worthy of his love, and he had no capacity for it.
He glared at Severus, who was still sleeping. The man tossed and turned slightly, and his fingers clenched. Voldemort's long fingers twitched towards the sleeping man, but he snatched them back. He stood to dress.
Severus stretched out, suddenly not feeling the warmth that had been near his side. He opened his eyes, and saw his master dressed by the door. He frowned slightly, aware of his childish anger.
Voldemort refused to acknowledge the flip of his stomach that wouldn't seem to leave him when he thought of Severus. He kept his face indifferent and nodded towards Severus. "You may leave whenever you are ready."
Severus nodded, in a daze, and Voldemort left the room. He grabbed his heart angrily – what was the point of being the most powerful wizard in the world if one man could bring you to your knees?
Severus dressed quickly, fighting his insane anger. Why had he expected anything different? He could be Crucio'd at night and expect cuddling in the morning. What the hell was wrong with him? He was in such a state that, when he Apparated, he landed nearly a mile from where he had meant to be. He didn't bother Apparating again, thinking he might Splinch himself, but simply started walking towards Hogwarts.
When the drive appeared in front of him, he slowly walked up it. He ignored the few students who stared at him, and closed his eyes to avoid Minerva's gaze. Albus seemed to be expecting him, and fell into step behind Severus.
When Snape still had Albus trailing him at his door, he left the door open. He reheated the leftover tea on his desk, and handed Albus a cup. Severus dropped into a large armchair, and shut his eyes.
Albus sighed. "Severus, are you alright?"
"As well as I ever am."
"I hate to show you this, but I feel I must." Albus dropped a newspaper into Snape's lap.
He didn't move for a moment, not wanting to read it, but eventually he opened his eyes. Looking at the paper, he curled his lip in disgust.
A huge Dark Mark loomed in the sky. He scanned the article, noting with surprise that the Dark Lord himself had been at this killing. "Why is this of importance? I am perfectly aware of what the Dark Lord does in his spare time."
"It happened just minutes before you were called."
Severus quieted the sudden swirling in his stomach. The thought of killing had never appealed to him – the Dark Lord had forced him before, but it was not a pleasant thing. "I see." The image of Voldemort reaching for him with blood on his hands made his head spin.
"Being in love is not something I'm unfamiliar with, Severus. I cannot understand your position, but I can empathize with that part of it."
"Albus, I don't wish to discuss this."
Albus took a minute and sipped his tea, making a slight face. "Are you capable of teaching classes tomorrow, Severus?"
"If you allow me to teach them as I wish."
"If you threaten another student, the parents will have my head, along with yours. You don't have to be cordial, but you can't be homicidal." Severus nodded.
They sat in silence.
Albus saw that they wouldn't be speaking any longer, and carefully drained the rest of his tea. "I'll see you at dinner?"
"Possibly." Severus sat his untouched tea on the table.
Severus told himself that when he was called this time that it had a different feel – from the beginning, when his Mark had burned, to when he'd landed, only to not be enveloped in those arms, and touched by those lips. Perhaps he was kidding himself, but it was different.
When Voldemort did appear, their last kiss was tender. Severus expressed his surprise with every move of his body – he never had felt this sort of love expressed physically. His surprise grew greater when he realized that he felt loved at this moment – there was no cynicism, no sarcasm. This felt like love.
Severus was not sad when the kiss was broken, and less so when his master, his love, raised his wand. Sadness wasn't enough for the feeling of his broken heart. He kept his face expressionless, and as he saw the flash of green light, he had to take a deep breath in – death was coming, and he was ready.
Severus's body fell, as if in slow motion. Voldemort walked away from it, leaving it to Wormtail to figure out. He specifically refused to know where the body was put. There could be no chance of him going there, and seeing Severus again.
The hardest thing Voldemort had ever had to do was kill Severus, so his death was almost poetic justice – the most justice he was willing to suffer. He had no hope of meeting Severus again – the idea of a higher power was repulsive to him – but he hoped Severus had found the peace in death that he had lacked in life.
Killing Severus had also been the smartest thing he'd ever done. Falling in love was dangerous. It had opened his heart when it ought to have stayed closed. It hurt him, but it was the right decision. There would be no regret.
All throughout the final battle, when looking into Harry Potter's eyes, he had hope – hope that perhaps he would live. But there was also a doubt in the back of his mind that said he deserved to die. He tried to ignore it, but Severus's face loomed in front of him at all times.
When Harry spoke of love, Voldemort lied in earnest.
When Harry mentioned Severus and the Mudblood girl, he talked of "Snape's supposed great love," thinking the whole time of Severus's and his own relationship.
When Harry asked him to consider remorse, he was unable to conceal his surprise. It could not be that easy. He considered it, for a split second, but refused.
When their wands collided, Voldemort hoped to see Severus again, as had happened in the graveyard years ago.
There was a split second when he saw that he was dying.
Voldemort's last thoughts were of his lover, the impossible Severus Snape.
Albus had Severus buried in a simple ceremony. Many people, more than he expected, came. Harry's presence shocked him the most. Severus looked calm, almost as if he was sleeping. Albus couldn't help but draw parallels from Romeo and Juliet, with a larger amount of murder and treachery.
When the coffin was lowered into the ground, Albus shot a look at Harry. One tear graced his face.
Voldemort's body was cremated, and his ashes were scattered on Severus's grave. Albus waited to do this when the grave was deserted. As he scattered the ashes, he couldn't help but think that he was uniting lovers for all eternity, even in death. The romanticism appealed to him in the same way it would have appealed to Severus – and perhaps even to the Dark Lord.
(AN: I hope you enjoyed! This was a rather labor intensive story, so if you wouldn't mind leaving a review…And I promise that I will work on IPC again soon – just remember Script Frenzy!)