Derailed

Chapter Six: A little out of touch

The day of Severus’ trial edged slowly closer.

Alone in his house, Harry knew almost nothing of it, other than what he read in the Prophet. He told himself he cared nothing at all about the trial, about finding out what happened to Snape, yet, each evening he wandered the house for hours, putting off the moment when he would have to go to his bedroom and attempt to sleep.

And fail.

And would then create the collar. Every morning he vanished it, feeling sick at his own weakness and shame, and the longing he felt for Snape to humiliate and dominate him. But every night he felt it press against his skin and his cock oozed a little semen just at the feel of the cold metal against his hot flesh.

His mind just wouldn’t allow him rest. It churned and span as crazy half-formed thoughts passed through it. He’d tried alcohol, but that just gave him a headache to go with the ideas. He’d tried potions, but that just made him think of Snape even more, wondering if the man had made the potion he had bought and drunk. He’d tried screaming his frustration out, but that just gave him a sore throat, and made his eyes well up, but no tears fell. After weeping so much in Snape's care, he now didn't have the ability to cry any longer.

In the kitchen, entirely alone - he had even ensured there was no chance of house elves bothering him - he tried to focus on cutting some vegetables to make a meal. His mind just couldn’t focus, and the sharp knife shook in his hands, slicing squarely across one knuckle.

He drew in a sharp breath. Blood welled over his skin, thick and red. Harry stared at it, green eyes almost entirely black. He sucked on the wound, closing his eyes. His balls clenched and semen soaked his clothing.

For a few moments his mind was numb; there were no thoughts racing through his mind, just the sensation of the cut hurting, and his body releasing. It made him feel calm, seeing that line of red, tasting the richness of the fluid as his body tingled with its climax. He dipped a hand into his trousers and brought out a hand sticky with his own semen. He stuck a digit into his mouth: the salty bitterness of his come combined with the blood made his eyes flutter and shut.

His tongue lapped again and again at the cut, until it closed.

Disappointed, he opened his eyes. The skin was pink around the edges of the cut, slightly swollen. The tingle of the remembered cut was still in his mind. The feel of the cold metal as it had touched him. Control. Climax. The two went hand in hand for him.

With a trembling hand he picked up the knife and brought it close to his skin. He hesitated, not sure if he could do this. But the taste of sex and blood had been irresistible. The memory of sucking his fingers made his face flame with shame, but he couldn't deny the pleasure he had felt.

He pressed the blade down, and it easily passed through the layers of skin. The cool metal felt like a line of ice along his overheated body. It pressed inside him, the metal warming as his blood surrounded it. He felt the tip push painfully in, and it made his ass spasm at the longing that it created. The blade was pulled free and Harry could at last look at what he had done. Along the back of his left hand, from his little finger almost to his thumb, a line of blood was showing; some of it dripped free when he clenched his fist. The sting of the wound opening more made his dick twitch. He moaned and tasted his fluid, one hand moving to between his legs to rub roughly at his re-hardened cock.

Eyes closed, he sucked hard at the cut, pulling blood deep into his mouth. Swallowing and sucking yet more down. His right hand continued to stroke his length through his cotton trousers. The waistband slipped, and his hand moved inside the trousers, clutching at the hot hard length. He pumped on himself as he sucked at the blood. Loving the feel of the liquid on his tongue, coating his teeth and oozing thickly down his throat.

He gasped, body tensing, he shouted one word brokenly, and came. He eagerly wet his bloodied hand with his seed and licked both liquids off, ass clenching again and again at the longing for violent possession.

That night, Harry went to bed carrying a sharp knife. He gave himself the metal collar and stared at the blade, but feeling trapped, he felt no need to slice into his body and taste his blood; Snape controlled him without hurting him.

He lay face down, knees pressing into the bed so that his ass was raised. Aching, he pulled on his dick desperate for Snape to pound into his healed channel. When he came, he pressed sticky fingers between his buttocks and forced one digit in; the burn made him writhe, but he felt comforted, somehow, by the painful use of his body.

Imagining Snape's voice, he slept.

***

Far, far away, the man who had once been Tom Riddle snarled in repressed fury that he had lost so many of his followers in the disastrous ambush at Malfoy Manor. Lucius was gone, and with Voldemort's own diminished army, he dared not risk breaking the man out. Besides, this last failure had been one too many.

Now, staring out over the hills of Scotland, he spoke softly to Bellatrix Lestrange, “Perhaps it is time to see how the training of the young is coming along. Without Severus' leadership I worry for the school. However, the Carrows are still faithful and have, I think, done much to curb some of the more Muggle loving tendencies of those foolish enough to oppose me.”

Bellatrix, her eyes filled with adoration, commented, “My Lord, so many have been defeated. Perhaps you should...” she stopped when she saw the red glow in the eyes.

“Hide, Bellatrix? Is that what you were going to suggest? I have hidden long enough. I have licked my wounds long enough. I have lost good, faithful subjects like Severus and Lucius, and allowed the Boy Who Lived to escape my clutches yet again. That was my mistake. I revelled too much in his degradation, believing myself indestructible. Now, I see, there is a snake in the nest. Someone who has betrayed me. I will find them, and they will pay!”