Proof of Life

Instinct

Severus fully expected to wake up first, with Harry still sleeping by his side. However when he opened his eyes, Harry was no longer in bed.

He found Harry downstairs, occupying Severus' new favourite spot by the window. The last night's misadventure clearly had taken a toll on Harry – he looked tired, distressed, with dark circles under his eyes, and an utterly miserable expression on his face.

“I thought you'd still be in bed,” Severus said, approaching him. “It's not like you to be up at six in the morning.”

“I was up at five. Can't sleep.”

“You could have woken me if you needed a reason to stay in bed,” Severus pointed out, allowing his fingers to brush against Harry's shoulder in a way that was slightly more than just friendly.

Harry smiled weakly and shook his head. “Just... nervous, I guess. Worried about everything. Including... that.” Harry tilted his head and rubbed his cheek against Severus' fingers. “I know you get frustrated when I try saying that, but I really wouldn't want to end up doing something that... has bad memories for you. And ruin everything.”

“You won't,” Severus snapped, a bit more irritably than he intended. For a moment or so, he wanted nothing more than make a claim to absolute and utter normalcy, but he suspected that the scars littering his body, as well as his constant twitches, would make that claim less than believable. Harry exhaled sharply when Severus squeezed his shoulder even tighter. “You won't,” Severus repeated, a bit milder this time. “Harry, I have no urge to discuss the details of my imprisonment with anyone, even you, but I will tell you one thing. It is perhaps a blessing of sorts that all sexual encounters imposed on me during my captivity were grotesquely violent. I doubt that anything here will remind me of that sort of thing.”

Harry just gave the smallest of nods, his cheek lingering against the back of Severus' hand.

“You must have been terrified.”

Severus frowned. There was something about being with Harry that was having a disinhibiting effect on him. He wasn't certain how much of it was due to the trust that had been built between them, or how much was simply due to the calming effects of magic Harry was unthinkingly working on him with every touch. Perhaps, it didn't matter anymore.

“Terrified perhaps isn't the word,” Severus said, after giving it a moment's thought. Just the smallest twinge of bitterness came with those words, but he continued to speak. “Reduced. Reduced to nothing but instinct. Desire for food, water, sleep, escape from pain. All higher reasoning gone, and none wanted. Nothing left but the very basic essence of living.”

Harry's eyes lit up with alarm. “Nothing but instinct... it's not like that anymore for you, is it?”

“I don't know. Frankly, I don't care. Why the sudden questioning, Potter?”

“Yesterday. Draco said that... well, I've forced myself too much into your life, or something along those lines. He said that I'm sabotaging your freedom.”

“Nonsense,” Severus denied at once. “If slavery were your game, you would have played it already. All you had to do was raise your voice at me once just after bringing me home, and accept sexual favours. I would have obeyed happily, and never known that there was anything wrong with that picture. But apparently that's not what you wanted.”

Harry shook his head.

“No. I mean, I never wanted that sort of thing; but... on the other hand, I haven't made any progress in the last few months. Everything I tried led to a dead end of some sort. Vector magic research is going nowhere. I'm out of the loop on what's going on in the higher echelons of the Ministry, and so is Ron... and well, I'm out of ideas on how to prove your innocence to the Ministry who don't want to hear anything. Everything has slowed down to a crawl, and I've got nobody to blame but myself.”

“This... slowing down is understandable,” Severus said. “Nobody is able to continue functioning in crisis mode indefinitely, Potter. Eventually the routine of normal life reasserts itself and the problem you are trying to solve becomes a part of your daily existence. “

Severus quickly realized he'd said something wrong, because Harry winced noticeably at his words. “So you're saying I've given up, but that's all right?” Harry demanded with sudden anger in his voice.

“I'm saying,” Severus insisted, a bit impatiently, “that we've lost some momentum, that's all. And, perhaps, the fact that you've chosen to cater to all of my whims and twitches is the reason for it,” Severus added with vague amusement. “And trust me, right now I have no complaints.” He reached for Harry's hand and urged him to his feet until their bodies almost touched. “Maybe instinct is all I've got left – but what a way to indulge it. Isn't it what you told me to do anyway? Indulge?”

Harry laughed quietly, and leaned against Severus, the contact bringing with it the familiar sweet warmth. Severus laughed as well, eager to push the semi-awkward conversation out of his mind for the time being.

“Don't make it more complicated than it needs to be,” Severus advised him. “If I do something, it's simply because I want to – and because I expect it to feel good.” Taking Harry's face in his hands, Severus kissed him deeply, and was rewarded by the instant grinding of Harry's thigh against his.

“Mmhm,” Harry murmured, beginning to kiss him back. “Yes, all right then.”

o-o-o-o-o

They ended up in bed shortly thereafter. For a few minutes they engaged in a playful half-wrestling match, that Harry seemed to have no intention of winning. Still, at some point Severus found himself lying face down, with Harry pushing his hair away to expose the back of his neck and kiss it. Harry's hand moved to massage his shoulders again, and Severus let out a long, contented sigh. There was not even a momentary freezup when Harry's hand came into contact with his old injuries, or when Harry's tongue traced his spine, from neck to tailbone. There was nothing left, nothing but simple and pure pleasure, the now familiar sweet warmth of it running along the paths of contact, growing with every touch to envelop his entire body.

A few moments later he felt Harry's erection nudge against his thigh, and on an impulse parted his legs, waiting for Harry to make the next move – or not. He didn't quite know what exactly possessed him to do that now, whether he was making his escape from his sordid past, or finally surrendering to the cumulative weight of it – but then all thought had left him, leaving nothing but pure instinct and drive for something more, and the strange, unfamiliar desire to let Harry in, and grant him access to everything he was.

It felt good. Anything felt good at Harry's hands, as if Harry simply wanted him to feel nothing but pleasure – and was succeeding in that, without fail. It wasn't possible to tell how much of this enjoyment was a result of that insidious, comforting magic of the bond that Harry's hands were delivering with every touch, and how much of it he would have felt anyway; but Severus no longer cared. All he cared about was that it was good.

It was good to be guided to kneel up, to have Harry's arms wrap around him. It was good to be entered. Harry was so deep inside him, it probably should have hurt – but it didn't. Everything felt blissfully good and blissfully normal, as if the two of them were simply growing into each other, after being apart for too long.

o-o-o-o-o

For a while afterwards, Harry lay on top of him, breathing deeply, as if he was beginning to fall asleep. Severus stirred, and Harry climbed off promptly, but instantly found a spot on Severus' shoulder to rest his head.

“How was that?” Harry asked softly.

“Good, of course.” Severus couldn't contain his amusement when he asked, “Dare I guess what you used for lubricant?”

“Uh.”

“Yes?”

“Ginny's hand cream that she left behind,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “You didn't give me much warning!” he added, defensive. “I had to improvise.”

“Quick thinking, Potter. We'll make a decent strategist out of you yet.”

Harry laughed out loud, but his laugh turned into a yawn and he drifted off, with Severus following his example.

o-o-o-o-o

Severus woke up from the odd sensation that something was wrong. His body felt...achy. More than that – there was an insidious, nagging fever, worming its way through his veins and bones, flaring up with every movement.

He rubbed his eyes, suddenly realizing that he didn't remember where he was, or what was going on.

The slightest twinge of discomfort in his backside, along with traces of semen on his thighs informed him of the recent activities and for some reason he felt nauseated by this realization, even though he couldn't tell why.

He was in bed with someone - Severus turned his head and stared at the naked man, sound asleep next to him. He recognized Potter's face, and the disorientation continued to intensify. He and Potter – were together? He wasn't displeased by that fact, he realized with a start ... but he couldn't help but wonder how that happened, or when.

He got up abruptly, and donned the dressing gown that lay near on the side of the bed – he presumed it was his. He didn't remember where his wand was, and he didn't want to make noise by a lengthy search. All he wanted to do was get out of the bedroom, be alone and think.

Every move hurt and Severus was unsteady on his feet, but he chose to keep moving. Slowly, using the walls for support, he walked downstairs. Maybe there would be some healing potion in the house, he thought, even though he couldn't recognize the symptoms, and didn't exactly know what potion he would take for something like this. Although, perhaps a simple analgesic draught would do... except, a nasty doubt entered his mind, didn't he have a resistance to that sort of thing? He couldn't remember that either.

Once he made it into the living room, the unfamiliar surroundings took him by surprise. Somehow, he'd hoped he'd be able to remember at least something once he got here, but there was nothing that he could recall – the hearth, he couch near it, the armchair, the bookshelves – nothing seemed to ring a bell.

And he still couldn't remember what he was doing here, in this house. He only remembered that upstairs, Potter was naked in bed.

The fever seemed to continue to grow, becoming agonizing and nearly twisting his gut into a tight knot that he wasn't certain anybody could ever untangle.

Moving cautiously, he sat down on the couch and hugged his body with his arms. He froze involuntarily when his hands came in contact with scar tissue on his own skin. Automatically, he traced those scars with his fingers and thought they seemed like whip marks. He didn't remember getting those injuries. Where did they come from? Was Potter the one to inflict them?

For some reason, the mere thought of cruelty at Harry's hands brought with it a pang of debilitating, unfathomable grief. Severus stood up and headed to the bookshelves, his fingers now running over the dusty bookends. He didn't know what he was looking for. Perhaps a journal of some sort, some sort of paper that would explain at least something, one way or another.

His eyes stopped on a piece of parchment that looked slightly out of place. He pulled it out and stared, barely able to focus. It was a birth certificate of some sort – but all he could make out was the child's name. Lily Eileen Potter.

A wave of irrational, and nearly idiotic relief washed over him. A child, named after Harry's mother, and Severus'. That... meant something. They were... family. This was home.

“Home,” Severus whispered in wonder. His hands shaking, he clutched the fragile parchment and drew it to his heart. He didn't let go of it even when his legs buckled and he fell, oblivion claiming him before he could feel the impact.

To Be Continued...