Love, Lies & Loneliness
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
55
Views:
52,550
Reviews:
258
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
55
Views:
52,550
Reviews:
258
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The beginning of the end
(A/N) Hi. Please be gentle with me upon reading this fic, I\'m a seasoned Fanfiction writer but never in the Harry Potter universe. I saw everyone having so much fun with this genre that I thought, why not have a go, and so for the next few weeks you\'ll be treated to my first ever \'Potter\' fic. As I\'ve said countless times before, I don\'t have a beta, for reasons of my own, so all mistakes are mine and only serve to add character to my works. Well hope you enjoy these two chapters, and reviews as always are much appreciated...
EDIT 1/10/05 Disclaimer - You\'ve heard it all before so here it goes again, I don\'t profess to own any of the characters or plot co incidents with the Harry Potter series written by JK Rowling, contained within this story. All dirt, sex and other profanity is made from the sick genius of my own and while I use for my own and others amusements the character of JKR\'s stories, I do neither profit monetarily or legally from anything contained within these pages. All relative warnings related to this story are clearly indicated and should you be reading this story and take offence I accept no responsibility having warned you thoroughly before undertaking the project. If you sue, you won\'t make a dime so don\'t bother. RIFFRAFF.
Chapter 1
(The beginning of the End)
It hurt.
A pain unlike anything swept through his chest and tightened around his heart like a constrictive snake. His eyes, reddened by tears and blackened by bruises, could barely focus even with the broken shards of his glasses still perched precarious on his nose. They’d never done anything like this before, or at least never succeeded. In his heart he knew it had been coming. 15 years of bottled resent would inevitably hurt when unleased, and ‘oh god’ did it hurt. With every breath he took a searing pain swept down his spine and back up his legs to settle in his stomach. Blood dripped from his face onto the dusty floorboards, splattering like crimson raindrops in the dark. He couldn’t move. Although years spent in the little cupboard under the stairs had brought him knowledge of its confined space, now despite his injuries his physical height would not allow him room to move. Desperately he wanted to straighten himself in the vain hope it would help him breath but every time he lifted his head it came in contact with the stairs above him, adding already to bruises and cuts forming on his scull.
Of all his injuries, and there were many, the most serious he knew were the deep lacerations on his face and back. He had neither the stomach nor the breath to lift his hands to inspect the damage to his face, knowing what his hands would find. Every wave of pain in his chest made him wince, and every wince brought more pain from the shards of glass he knew were embedded within his skin. Some of the glass had come from his own glasses, Dudley’s first punch crushing them like eggshells into his face. Most of the glass had come from Petunia’s crystal port decanter, an innocent object Harry had only just cleaned yesterday, but in the hands of his Uncle a weapon of pain. Had Harry known then what he’d known now, he’d have never have left the item out on the table where Vernon had easy access too.
It seemed all so simple now, in the darkness of the cupboard. Harry had become used to Dudley going through his things. He had little privacy at number 4 Privet drive, and knowing of his cousins tendency to ramble through his things, Harry had begun to leave his most precious and personal items at Hogwarts, under his dorm mattress. The only item that had ever gone everywhere with him was the picture of his mother and father. It was the most precious item he owned and knew that without it he wouldn’t be able to get through each summer. It had been the picture however that now saw him cowering in agony in his cupboard. He’d been in the kitchen, making lunch for the Dursley’s, and his cousin’s fat friend who’d come around for a weeks stay. It hadn’t surprised him to hear his cousin and his friend going through his things upstairs and although he shuddered in revulsion of his affects being touched, the boy knew there was little to be done about it.
Aunt Petunia had called lunch and Harry had watched in horror as the two boys had come clomping downstairs with both Harry’s wand and the picture of his parents clasped in their grubby hands. Almost instantly Harry had snatched for the picture in his cousins grip but Dudley had been quicker racing over to the sink and holding the picture and the wand over the garbage disposal unit with sick satisfaction. Without success Harry had pleaded with the boy to give the picture back to him but Dudley had merely laughed at him and dropped the picture into the grinder with an evil smirk. Harry had lunged after the picture but it had been to late, the blades had shredded the picture into an irreversible mess, the magical photo washing away with the dishwater. Harry didn’t know what had happened as he’d watched the single memory of his parents drowning but he’d felt the anger rise in him the moment the last trace of the picture had gone. The house had shook then, rattled and shifted restlessly on its foundations as Harry had turned to stare at his cousin. Dudley swung out his fist. It connected with Harry’s face with a sickening crack, shattering his glasses and instantly breaking his nose. But Harry hardly flinched. Lifting his hand Harry drew his wand to him, the wooden object flying from Dudley’s podgy grip into the outstretched palm of its owner.
Looking back Harry didn’t know how he’d done it, wandless magic he’d never tried, but at the time it hadn’t mattered. Uncaring for the rules Harry had lifted his wand and let fly the worst hex he knew. The purple fire had screamed through the air, the entire house shuddering as Dudley was thrown through the front bay windows onto Petunia’s rose bushes outside. His cousin was crying out in pain but Harry took sweet delight in hearing it. That delight had not lasted long and before Harry could move something hard had connected with his back sending him screaming in agony to the floor.
Harry didn’t know for how long Vernon had beat him, but it seemed like forever. Eventually he’d stopped struggling, the pain dulling in his mind as Vernon continued to lay into him. He’d stopped screaming long enough to hear the sirens of the ambulance coming to collect Dudley. They’d not come inside, and so Vernon had continued to hit him, even as Dudley was carried away on a stretcher, his friend and Aunt Petunia with him.
At last it had come to an end, his body broken and his mind shut off. Vernon had dragged him by his hair across the floor, reopening and deepening the cuts on his body, pushing the glass from the decanter further into his back. With a foot he’d been kicked into the cupboard, the light bulb removed and the bolts and locks slammed shut.
Now however he lay half crumpled on the wooden floor, listening to his own heartbeat and the silence of the house beyond his cupboard. Awake and in pain he lay in silence, continuing to listen for anyone who would come to his rescue. Harry knew that Sirius was to come and pick him up tomorrow to spend a week at Grimmauld Place before returning to Hogwarts. He’d be spending time with his godfather, the only family he had. Ron and Hermione would come and visit him, they’d go flying and talk about Quidditch and school. It would be a happy time. It was those thoughts alone that kept him breathing now, even when his lungs felt like acid inside his chest.
There was a noise. It had only been quiet and Harry couldn’t be sure if he’d heard it, but it had definitely been something else other than his labored breathing he’d heard. In the vain hope that it was someone other than the Dursley’s back, Harry began thumping on the door to his cupboard. He hadn’t the strength to shout, or even to move his hands but it was sign he was there and no wizard would mistake it. He heard footsteps then, and a voice so familiar to him that his body seemed to ache less at the very sound.
“Dursley?” Sirius voice was close and Harry shook in relief as he heard his godfather wandering down the hall. His godfather’s footsteps stopped outside the cupboard and Harry pressed himself against the door almost feeling the man’s warmth. “Holy shit.” Harry heard the man mutter in disbelief. “Harry? Harry?” A note of panic crept into Sirius voice then as the man began to call desperately for his godson. Harry knew what his godfather had seen. Blood. Mostly his no doubt, judging by the way his shirt and pants clung to his body with the familiar tang of blood in the air.
“Sirius!” Using what remained of his strength Harry threw his fists at the door of the cupboard calling Sirius name weakly. It worked. Before Harry knew what had happened he found himself face first on the carpet of the hall, his body quaking in pain with the impact. Sirius was a blurry blob above him but the expression on his face was one Harry would never forget.
“Oh god, I’ll kill them.” Harry couldn’t help but scream in pain as his godfather picked him up effortlessly from the found, the strong arms around him crushing the glass in his back and face further into their wounds. Sirius seemed to pay no heed however and soon they were running, out of the door and along Privet Drive to the little park on the end of the cul-de-sac. Sirius didn’t stop running and Harry only new they’d apparated when the blue sky of Privet Drive turned into the gray sky of London. Sirius seemed to be still running and Harry barely noticed as they came in through the front entrance of Grimmauld Place, Sirius seeming not even to care that in broad daylight in front of muggles he’d just disappeared through a wall. No sooner were they in the house than Sirius had run screaming for help into the front living room. Harry had seen faces then, all of them stunned motionless as Sirius had placed him caringly on the couch. Harry had screamed then too, his back scolded like fire and he’d twisted out of Sirius grasp to shift onto his front. His scream seemed to trigger something and before he knew it eight or more pairs of hands were on him, their hurried voices a blur of commotion about him, that he felt dizzy and sick to the stomach. At the mere thought of being ill, he vomited all over the person who now knelt beside him. Harry didn’t know who it was but there was no disgust in the man’s voice as he calmly told the others Harry was bringing up blood.
Harry could taste the blood on his tongue and tried not to heave again, but that choice was taken from him as someone began tearing the clothes from his body. Each strip of fabric torn from his body shifted the shards of glass and before long he was convulsing in pain, the many hands now working to keep him still on the couch.
“He’s going to pass out, he’s in agony, do something!” Sirius face was close and Harry could just make out his godfathers face through the tears and pain. Sirius was holding Harry’s face in the palms of his hands his touch tender and so comforting.
“He’s better off that way trust me, he’s a mess.” Another voice Harry knew replied to his godfather and while it wasn’t one he’d expected it certainly wasn’t unwelcome considering the situation. “Oh for Merlin’s sake hold the boy still!” The sharp tone made Harry smile inwardly despite the pain, only Severus Snape could still snap at people with such calm authority in such a situation. The thought however disappeared as someone ran their hand down his back, their fingers cruelly wrapping around a shared of glass and attempting to shift it. With a final raw scream Harry fell into darkness, the sound of his godfather and Snape arguing drifting into silence.
TBC>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
EDIT 1/10/05 Disclaimer - You\'ve heard it all before so here it goes again, I don\'t profess to own any of the characters or plot co incidents with the Harry Potter series written by JK Rowling, contained within this story. All dirt, sex and other profanity is made from the sick genius of my own and while I use for my own and others amusements the character of JKR\'s stories, I do neither profit monetarily or legally from anything contained within these pages. All relative warnings related to this story are clearly indicated and should you be reading this story and take offence I accept no responsibility having warned you thoroughly before undertaking the project. If you sue, you won\'t make a dime so don\'t bother. RIFFRAFF.
Chapter 1
(The beginning of the End)
It hurt.
A pain unlike anything swept through his chest and tightened around his heart like a constrictive snake. His eyes, reddened by tears and blackened by bruises, could barely focus even with the broken shards of his glasses still perched precarious on his nose. They’d never done anything like this before, or at least never succeeded. In his heart he knew it had been coming. 15 years of bottled resent would inevitably hurt when unleased, and ‘oh god’ did it hurt. With every breath he took a searing pain swept down his spine and back up his legs to settle in his stomach. Blood dripped from his face onto the dusty floorboards, splattering like crimson raindrops in the dark. He couldn’t move. Although years spent in the little cupboard under the stairs had brought him knowledge of its confined space, now despite his injuries his physical height would not allow him room to move. Desperately he wanted to straighten himself in the vain hope it would help him breath but every time he lifted his head it came in contact with the stairs above him, adding already to bruises and cuts forming on his scull.
Of all his injuries, and there were many, the most serious he knew were the deep lacerations on his face and back. He had neither the stomach nor the breath to lift his hands to inspect the damage to his face, knowing what his hands would find. Every wave of pain in his chest made him wince, and every wince brought more pain from the shards of glass he knew were embedded within his skin. Some of the glass had come from his own glasses, Dudley’s first punch crushing them like eggshells into his face. Most of the glass had come from Petunia’s crystal port decanter, an innocent object Harry had only just cleaned yesterday, but in the hands of his Uncle a weapon of pain. Had Harry known then what he’d known now, he’d have never have left the item out on the table where Vernon had easy access too.
It seemed all so simple now, in the darkness of the cupboard. Harry had become used to Dudley going through his things. He had little privacy at number 4 Privet drive, and knowing of his cousins tendency to ramble through his things, Harry had begun to leave his most precious and personal items at Hogwarts, under his dorm mattress. The only item that had ever gone everywhere with him was the picture of his mother and father. It was the most precious item he owned and knew that without it he wouldn’t be able to get through each summer. It had been the picture however that now saw him cowering in agony in his cupboard. He’d been in the kitchen, making lunch for the Dursley’s, and his cousin’s fat friend who’d come around for a weeks stay. It hadn’t surprised him to hear his cousin and his friend going through his things upstairs and although he shuddered in revulsion of his affects being touched, the boy knew there was little to be done about it.
Aunt Petunia had called lunch and Harry had watched in horror as the two boys had come clomping downstairs with both Harry’s wand and the picture of his parents clasped in their grubby hands. Almost instantly Harry had snatched for the picture in his cousins grip but Dudley had been quicker racing over to the sink and holding the picture and the wand over the garbage disposal unit with sick satisfaction. Without success Harry had pleaded with the boy to give the picture back to him but Dudley had merely laughed at him and dropped the picture into the grinder with an evil smirk. Harry had lunged after the picture but it had been to late, the blades had shredded the picture into an irreversible mess, the magical photo washing away with the dishwater. Harry didn’t know what had happened as he’d watched the single memory of his parents drowning but he’d felt the anger rise in him the moment the last trace of the picture had gone. The house had shook then, rattled and shifted restlessly on its foundations as Harry had turned to stare at his cousin. Dudley swung out his fist. It connected with Harry’s face with a sickening crack, shattering his glasses and instantly breaking his nose. But Harry hardly flinched. Lifting his hand Harry drew his wand to him, the wooden object flying from Dudley’s podgy grip into the outstretched palm of its owner.
Looking back Harry didn’t know how he’d done it, wandless magic he’d never tried, but at the time it hadn’t mattered. Uncaring for the rules Harry had lifted his wand and let fly the worst hex he knew. The purple fire had screamed through the air, the entire house shuddering as Dudley was thrown through the front bay windows onto Petunia’s rose bushes outside. His cousin was crying out in pain but Harry took sweet delight in hearing it. That delight had not lasted long and before Harry could move something hard had connected with his back sending him screaming in agony to the floor.
Harry didn’t know for how long Vernon had beat him, but it seemed like forever. Eventually he’d stopped struggling, the pain dulling in his mind as Vernon continued to lay into him. He’d stopped screaming long enough to hear the sirens of the ambulance coming to collect Dudley. They’d not come inside, and so Vernon had continued to hit him, even as Dudley was carried away on a stretcher, his friend and Aunt Petunia with him.
At last it had come to an end, his body broken and his mind shut off. Vernon had dragged him by his hair across the floor, reopening and deepening the cuts on his body, pushing the glass from the decanter further into his back. With a foot he’d been kicked into the cupboard, the light bulb removed and the bolts and locks slammed shut.
Now however he lay half crumpled on the wooden floor, listening to his own heartbeat and the silence of the house beyond his cupboard. Awake and in pain he lay in silence, continuing to listen for anyone who would come to his rescue. Harry knew that Sirius was to come and pick him up tomorrow to spend a week at Grimmauld Place before returning to Hogwarts. He’d be spending time with his godfather, the only family he had. Ron and Hermione would come and visit him, they’d go flying and talk about Quidditch and school. It would be a happy time. It was those thoughts alone that kept him breathing now, even when his lungs felt like acid inside his chest.
There was a noise. It had only been quiet and Harry couldn’t be sure if he’d heard it, but it had definitely been something else other than his labored breathing he’d heard. In the vain hope that it was someone other than the Dursley’s back, Harry began thumping on the door to his cupboard. He hadn’t the strength to shout, or even to move his hands but it was sign he was there and no wizard would mistake it. He heard footsteps then, and a voice so familiar to him that his body seemed to ache less at the very sound.
“Dursley?” Sirius voice was close and Harry shook in relief as he heard his godfather wandering down the hall. His godfather’s footsteps stopped outside the cupboard and Harry pressed himself against the door almost feeling the man’s warmth. “Holy shit.” Harry heard the man mutter in disbelief. “Harry? Harry?” A note of panic crept into Sirius voice then as the man began to call desperately for his godson. Harry knew what his godfather had seen. Blood. Mostly his no doubt, judging by the way his shirt and pants clung to his body with the familiar tang of blood in the air.
“Sirius!” Using what remained of his strength Harry threw his fists at the door of the cupboard calling Sirius name weakly. It worked. Before Harry knew what had happened he found himself face first on the carpet of the hall, his body quaking in pain with the impact. Sirius was a blurry blob above him but the expression on his face was one Harry would never forget.
“Oh god, I’ll kill them.” Harry couldn’t help but scream in pain as his godfather picked him up effortlessly from the found, the strong arms around him crushing the glass in his back and face further into their wounds. Sirius seemed to pay no heed however and soon they were running, out of the door and along Privet Drive to the little park on the end of the cul-de-sac. Sirius didn’t stop running and Harry only new they’d apparated when the blue sky of Privet Drive turned into the gray sky of London. Sirius seemed to be still running and Harry barely noticed as they came in through the front entrance of Grimmauld Place, Sirius seeming not even to care that in broad daylight in front of muggles he’d just disappeared through a wall. No sooner were they in the house than Sirius had run screaming for help into the front living room. Harry had seen faces then, all of them stunned motionless as Sirius had placed him caringly on the couch. Harry had screamed then too, his back scolded like fire and he’d twisted out of Sirius grasp to shift onto his front. His scream seemed to trigger something and before he knew it eight or more pairs of hands were on him, their hurried voices a blur of commotion about him, that he felt dizzy and sick to the stomach. At the mere thought of being ill, he vomited all over the person who now knelt beside him. Harry didn’t know who it was but there was no disgust in the man’s voice as he calmly told the others Harry was bringing up blood.
Harry could taste the blood on his tongue and tried not to heave again, but that choice was taken from him as someone began tearing the clothes from his body. Each strip of fabric torn from his body shifted the shards of glass and before long he was convulsing in pain, the many hands now working to keep him still on the couch.
“He’s going to pass out, he’s in agony, do something!” Sirius face was close and Harry could just make out his godfathers face through the tears and pain. Sirius was holding Harry’s face in the palms of his hands his touch tender and so comforting.
“He’s better off that way trust me, he’s a mess.” Another voice Harry knew replied to his godfather and while it wasn’t one he’d expected it certainly wasn’t unwelcome considering the situation. “Oh for Merlin’s sake hold the boy still!” The sharp tone made Harry smile inwardly despite the pain, only Severus Snape could still snap at people with such calm authority in such a situation. The thought however disappeared as someone ran their hand down his back, their fingers cruelly wrapping around a shared of glass and attempting to shift it. With a final raw scream Harry fell into darkness, the sound of his godfather and Snape arguing drifting into silence.
TBC>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>