End of Obsession, Ch. 8
Title: The End of Obsession, Ch. 8
Author: juwel_fic
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1379 this chapter
Pairings/characters: Severus/Harry, Severus/Lucius, Severus/Draco, past Severus/Voldemort, hints of Draco/Harry
Summary: Snape has always been obsessed. Now that the war is over, it's time to get over that little obsession.
Warnings: dub con, bdsm, past abuse and rape, biting, blood, collars, breathplay, and I guess I’d better add cutting.
Author's notes: The idea for this story was originally based on a request from venturous1 for harry_holidays with the request "how about Snape's first time, go as dark as you want to with it, including non-con; contrast with Harry's deflowering." The writing was delayed, however, due to schooling, and now it’s turned into this gigantic thing. Here's hoping for the UST and mind-blowing smut you asked for!
Disclaimer: The characters in this fiction are the property of J.K. Rowling. No money is being made from this and no trademark infringement is intended. This is purely for your reading pleasure.
Harry's POV this chapter! Also I apologize as there will probably be a delay before the next chapter--I have festfic deadlines coming up.
Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6
7
Harry stared at the picture of his parents, feeling a terrible weight in his chest, as he sat on the bed of what was now supposedly home. He'd been spending the last few weeks at the Burrow, helping with arrangements of things, including Fred's funeral, Hermione's quest to find her parents again, and Ginny. Harry sighed.
The first week or two after the final battle, Ginny had been depressed, and Harry had tried to help get her out again, try to get past the loss of her brother. He'd been having his own rough time then as well, but it had been something to focus on--that, and clean up at Hogwarts, the funerals, the press, and dealing with the trials of some of the surviving Death Eaters. It all seemed grey and distant now, a series of tasks that he'd just thrown himself into doing, to keep himself from feeling. To keep away from the full impact of what his life was going to be like now that Voldemort was dead. The Dursleys were gone. He was a legal adult.
Now, however, the busy work was done. Hermione was working with her parents to undo the memory charm and Ron was always with her. Ginny had begun acting recklessly, spending time with anyone who would go with her, most recently Seamus Finnegan and Lee Gordon. Harry didn't feel any connection to her. He didn't feel much of anything, any connection to anyone, in fact.
The Burrow no longer felt like home. Nothing did, except perhaps Hogwarts, but even that was half destroyed. Worse, everywhere Harry went, everywhere he tried to stay, there was the constant reminder of death, of all those lost and gone. Fred. Lupin and Tonks. Dumbledore. Snape. He didn't even have Hedwig now to keep him company.
The walls inside of him were crumbling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Harry clutched at the covers of the bed, staring at the faded wallpaper of the room, torn ragged here and there by who knew what--perhaps just the passage of time. Neglect. Sirius Black was dead and here he was, trying to carve a space out of the ruins of what had once been the man's house.
How pathetic was that?
"Kreacher!" Harry called, and though he tried to suppress it, there was a note of panic in his voice. He felt like he was on the edge of a precipice, about to fall into darkness.
The house elf appeared at once, looking down his hawkish nose at Harry, his hands steepled. "Master?"
Harry fought to control his breathing, his silly fears. "Anything happen since I was last here?" Of course he doubted that anything had--other than the Weasleys and Hagrid, all the other members of the Order were dead. But it was just being able to speak with someone, anyone. Anything to keep away from facing his ghosts.
Kreacher blinked, perhaps in surprise. "As a matter of fact, something did." He cocked his head, looking at Harry. "Another house elf was here the other night. She seemed to be looking for something. She wasn't here long."
Harry blinked, taken back. "Who?"
"Bibsy--the current Malfoy estate house elf," Kreacher stated in a low voice. Harry had a feeling that Kreacher had not forgotten his betrayal of Harry's trust in helping Narcissa and Bellatrix. But why would the Malfoys be searching his place now? A thought came immediately to him. Draco's wand. He still had it. "Did you speak with her? Did she mention what she wanted?" It could be Draco, trying to get his wand back. Harry couldn't think of anything that anyone else in that household could want with him at the moment. It made him wary, however. Couldn't people just leave him alone?
Kreacher shook his head, looking down. "I'm sorry, no. As Kreacher said, she was not here long."
Harry bit his lip. Well, it didn't appear that she'd taken anything. He needed to return Draco's wand anyway. Tomorrow he would go to the manor and try to learn more. "Thank you, Kreacher. I'll call you if I need anything." The house elf disappeared and Harry sighed. Alone again.
It was terribly quiet in the room. No television, no radio, nothing. Harry sat for a moment, contemplating the idea of reading a book, or sleeping. He needed a television. And some music. And also perhaps another owl--that way he could at least send messages, and have some company. It couldn’t look lie Hedwig, though. Perhaps small. And dark.
"I'll pick one up tomorrow," Harry said out loud, just to hear something, anything. From the hallway he thought he heard murmuring. One of the Black family portraits, probably. Another thing he could do would be to strip the place bare. Remodel it into something more modern.
And then what?
His life was a gaping hole, a barren wasteland stretching out before him. He’d already told McGonagall that he would return to Hogwarts in the fall so that he could complete schooling and take his N.E.W.T.s. But what then? Before, he’d wanted to be an Auror. The notion sickened him now. No more duels. No more chasing the dark wizards. Harry wanted no more fame, no more heroics. Perhaps he should move to Romania.
The worst of it was that there was no one left to guide him. No one to tell him what to do. Every adult mentor, torn away. Mrs. Weasley was all right, sure, but Harry knew he needed a firmer hand, someone who would look at him moping right now and snap at him to get up. Get moving. Stop crying.
A hot tear splashed on his hand. Harry reached up to take off his glasses and swipe at his eyes, angry at himself, his weakness. But he couldn’t help it. More tears followed, and it felt like his heart was trying to tear itself out of his chest. So alone.
So very bloody alone.
“Damn you all,” Harry whispered, lying down on the bed, curled up in misery. It was hard to breathe; the pain was so heavy, crushing down on him. Grimacing, he reached over to the night table, hand fumbling to feel what was there. His eyes focused on the group picture of the new Order of Phoenix. He tasted saltwater on his lips. “You left me.” Black, Tonks, Lupin, and Snape, all in the back row, with Snape holding his arms crossed, looking disgusted with the whole proceeding. He felt robbed. Snape hadn’t even let Harry know the real truth, the real person in those damned black robes.
Harry’s hand closed over something on the table, a letter opener. He had to let the pain out, or he was going to go mad with it. Nothing permanent. He wasn’t quite ready to do that yet. But something to relieve the pressure.
Sitting up a little, Harry reached out his other arm, his hand fisted, wrist down against the mattress. Just a little swipe across the top of his forearm, and there it was, a bright slash of pain, a little straight cut which bled only a little. Harry took a deep breath. It helped. On the back of his hand, he could still see the scars of faded letters, where someone else had taught him this little act of self-punishment. I must not tell lies.
Relieved, the tension all flowed out of Harry and he lay back down, shivering, cold. He had to keep himself busy, that was all there was to it. And he needed to figure out about Ginny, why he felt so empty about what had once been his dream, getting married, having kids and all. The disturbing thing was that when he closed his eyes, when he tried to imagine kissing-or anything else-he just couldn’t imagine it with her.
It always seemed to morph into someone much older. And male. Did that mean he was gay?
“Brilliant,” Harry whispered, feeling his lips curl cruelly around the word, mocking him. So then even the fantasy of a normal life was torn from him.
With that unhappy thought, Harry closed his eyes, and with more of a mental exhaustion than anything else, finally fell asleep.
***
Chapter Nine:
Author: juwel_fic
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1379 this chapter
Pairings/characters: Severus/Harry, Severus/Lucius, Severus/Draco, past Severus/Voldemort, hints of Draco/Harry
Summary: Snape has always been obsessed. Now that the war is over, it's time to get over that little obsession.
Warnings: dub con, bdsm, past abuse and rape, biting, blood, collars, breathplay, and I guess I’d better add cutting.
Author's notes: The idea for this story was originally based on a request from venturous1 for harry_holidays with the request "how about Snape's first time, go as dark as you want to with it, including non-con; contrast with Harry's deflowering." The writing was delayed, however, due to schooling, and now it’s turned into this gigantic thing. Here's hoping for the UST and mind-blowing smut you asked for!
Disclaimer: The characters in this fiction are the property of J.K. Rowling. No money is being made from this and no trademark infringement is intended. This is purely for your reading pleasure.
Harry's POV this chapter! Also I apologize as there will probably be a delay before the next chapter--I have festfic deadlines coming up.
Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6
7
Harry stared at the picture of his parents, feeling a terrible weight in his chest, as he sat on the bed of what was now supposedly home. He'd been spending the last few weeks at the Burrow, helping with arrangements of things, including Fred's funeral, Hermione's quest to find her parents again, and Ginny. Harry sighed.
The first week or two after the final battle, Ginny had been depressed, and Harry had tried to help get her out again, try to get past the loss of her brother. He'd been having his own rough time then as well, but it had been something to focus on--that, and clean up at Hogwarts, the funerals, the press, and dealing with the trials of some of the surviving Death Eaters. It all seemed grey and distant now, a series of tasks that he'd just thrown himself into doing, to keep himself from feeling. To keep away from the full impact of what his life was going to be like now that Voldemort was dead. The Dursleys were gone. He was a legal adult.
Now, however, the busy work was done. Hermione was working with her parents to undo the memory charm and Ron was always with her. Ginny had begun acting recklessly, spending time with anyone who would go with her, most recently Seamus Finnegan and Lee Gordon. Harry didn't feel any connection to her. He didn't feel much of anything, any connection to anyone, in fact.
The Burrow no longer felt like home. Nothing did, except perhaps Hogwarts, but even that was half destroyed. Worse, everywhere Harry went, everywhere he tried to stay, there was the constant reminder of death, of all those lost and gone. Fred. Lupin and Tonks. Dumbledore. Snape. He didn't even have Hedwig now to keep him company.
The walls inside of him were crumbling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Harry clutched at the covers of the bed, staring at the faded wallpaper of the room, torn ragged here and there by who knew what--perhaps just the passage of time. Neglect. Sirius Black was dead and here he was, trying to carve a space out of the ruins of what had once been the man's house.
How pathetic was that?
"Kreacher!" Harry called, and though he tried to suppress it, there was a note of panic in his voice. He felt like he was on the edge of a precipice, about to fall into darkness.
The house elf appeared at once, looking down his hawkish nose at Harry, his hands steepled. "Master?"
Harry fought to control his breathing, his silly fears. "Anything happen since I was last here?" Of course he doubted that anything had--other than the Weasleys and Hagrid, all the other members of the Order were dead. But it was just being able to speak with someone, anyone. Anything to keep away from facing his ghosts.
Kreacher blinked, perhaps in surprise. "As a matter of fact, something did." He cocked his head, looking at Harry. "Another house elf was here the other night. She seemed to be looking for something. She wasn't here long."
Harry blinked, taken back. "Who?"
"Bibsy--the current Malfoy estate house elf," Kreacher stated in a low voice. Harry had a feeling that Kreacher had not forgotten his betrayal of Harry's trust in helping Narcissa and Bellatrix. But why would the Malfoys be searching his place now? A thought came immediately to him. Draco's wand. He still had it. "Did you speak with her? Did she mention what she wanted?" It could be Draco, trying to get his wand back. Harry couldn't think of anything that anyone else in that household could want with him at the moment. It made him wary, however. Couldn't people just leave him alone?
Kreacher shook his head, looking down. "I'm sorry, no. As Kreacher said, she was not here long."
Harry bit his lip. Well, it didn't appear that she'd taken anything. He needed to return Draco's wand anyway. Tomorrow he would go to the manor and try to learn more. "Thank you, Kreacher. I'll call you if I need anything." The house elf disappeared and Harry sighed. Alone again.
It was terribly quiet in the room. No television, no radio, nothing. Harry sat for a moment, contemplating the idea of reading a book, or sleeping. He needed a television. And some music. And also perhaps another owl--that way he could at least send messages, and have some company. It couldn’t look lie Hedwig, though. Perhaps small. And dark.
"I'll pick one up tomorrow," Harry said out loud, just to hear something, anything. From the hallway he thought he heard murmuring. One of the Black family portraits, probably. Another thing he could do would be to strip the place bare. Remodel it into something more modern.
And then what?
His life was a gaping hole, a barren wasteland stretching out before him. He’d already told McGonagall that he would return to Hogwarts in the fall so that he could complete schooling and take his N.E.W.T.s. But what then? Before, he’d wanted to be an Auror. The notion sickened him now. No more duels. No more chasing the dark wizards. Harry wanted no more fame, no more heroics. Perhaps he should move to Romania.
The worst of it was that there was no one left to guide him. No one to tell him what to do. Every adult mentor, torn away. Mrs. Weasley was all right, sure, but Harry knew he needed a firmer hand, someone who would look at him moping right now and snap at him to get up. Get moving. Stop crying.
A hot tear splashed on his hand. Harry reached up to take off his glasses and swipe at his eyes, angry at himself, his weakness. But he couldn’t help it. More tears followed, and it felt like his heart was trying to tear itself out of his chest. So alone.
So very bloody alone.
“Damn you all,” Harry whispered, lying down on the bed, curled up in misery. It was hard to breathe; the pain was so heavy, crushing down on him. Grimacing, he reached over to the night table, hand fumbling to feel what was there. His eyes focused on the group picture of the new Order of Phoenix. He tasted saltwater on his lips. “You left me.” Black, Tonks, Lupin, and Snape, all in the back row, with Snape holding his arms crossed, looking disgusted with the whole proceeding. He felt robbed. Snape hadn’t even let Harry know the real truth, the real person in those damned black robes.
Harry’s hand closed over something on the table, a letter opener. He had to let the pain out, or he was going to go mad with it. Nothing permanent. He wasn’t quite ready to do that yet. But something to relieve the pressure.
Sitting up a little, Harry reached out his other arm, his hand fisted, wrist down against the mattress. Just a little swipe across the top of his forearm, and there it was, a bright slash of pain, a little straight cut which bled only a little. Harry took a deep breath. It helped. On the back of his hand, he could still see the scars of faded letters, where someone else had taught him this little act of self-punishment. I must not tell lies.
Relieved, the tension all flowed out of Harry and he lay back down, shivering, cold. He had to keep himself busy, that was all there was to it. And he needed to figure out about Ginny, why he felt so empty about what had once been his dream, getting married, having kids and all. The disturbing thing was that when he closed his eyes, when he tried to imagine kissing-or anything else-he just couldn’t imagine it with her.
It always seemed to morph into someone much older. And male. Did that mean he was gay?
“Brilliant,” Harry whispered, feeling his lips curl cruelly around the word, mocking him. So then even the fantasy of a normal life was torn from him.
With that unhappy thought, Harry closed his eyes, and with more of a mental exhaustion than anything else, finally fell asleep.
***
Chapter Nine: