Secret Release

A/N: Just in case you missed it outside, this is a dark fic dealing with self harm. Warning: Self Harm! It's not my typical story. It's also not a happy one! Read at your own risk!!


Severus Snape sat in his chambers. It had been one hell of a week. On Monday, Voldemort had summoned him to participate in a revel. Tuesday, a Hufflepuff blew up a cauldron in his classroom and turned the floor and ceiling pink. Wednesday, he ran out of aconite while brewing and ruined his newest potions experiment. Thursday, Severus did not sleep at all because of nightmares.

It was now Friday night and his lover was not due home for more than twelve hours. He had the whole evening to himself and he planned on using it to find some stress relief. He started with a large glass of merlot. It was one of the more expensive wines in the area, and Severus allowed himself the one vice.

After the wine was pleasantly flowing through his veins, Severus stepped into his bathroom, stripped naked, and settled into his large bathtub. The hundred or so violet scented candles took his mind away from the school and his… existence, to a place where he knew happiness. The memories of his mother smiling, talking to him, comforting him were bittersweet, fueling the emotions raging in the dark man.

Almost an hour later, Severus stirred from his memories. He rose from the bathtub, dried off, and wrapped himself in a silk kimono robe his lover brought him back from a trip to Japan. He tossed another couple of small logs into the hearth, sat down in his antique black chair, and watched the flames.

Silently, Severus summoned his black case. The small case was his most prized possession. No one, not even his lover, knew that he owned an item so precious. The small case landed in his lap. Long, pale finger caressed the alligator skin. Even after almost twenty-five years, it was still supple and perfect with no signs of wear.

Reverently, he flipped the small gold latch. With a smile, he lifted the lid. Nestled inside the black case, perched on a bed of equally black velvet was his straight razor. He tenderly grasped the ivory handle and lifted the instrument from its bed. Affectionately, he caressed the two black initials in the handle, SS, in the form of two serpents twined together. Carefully opening the blade, he watched the reflection of firelight dance across its pure silver edge.

He opened the end of his kimono to reveal his left thigh and leg. Severus delicately brought the sharp edge down to his skin. He hissed as the blade raked smoothly across his skin, cutting hair and flesh. Tiny rivulets of blood welled up behind the blade’s path.

It hurt! Severus loved the pain he felt from cutting himself. It helped him to know that he was indeed still alive when he could not feel anything else. He pulled the blade across his thigh again. More blood.

Repeatedly, Severus cut lines in his skin. Some bisected, others did not. Some were straight, while others curved just a bit, adding to the pain. Severus relived the week with each cut. One for not watching the Hufflepuff. Another for allowing Dumbledore to chastise him. A third for allowing his nightmares to keep him from sleep.

Each cut was more painful than the last and with each cut, Severus believed that he deserved more; he craved more. He crossed his ankle over his knee as he began to think about the previous Monday. He would mar his ankles and feet with his own brand of punishment for that particular night. Over and over again, he sliced his skin with his beloved razor. Two perpendicular lines for the girl he killed. Four for her brother, whom Severus raped.

He smeared the blood flowing from his ankle as he etched his loathing into his own skin. So caught up in his punishment, Severus did not notice the wards change slightly. He did not hear the footsteps approaching.

Harry arrived, hoping to surprise his lover. He let himself in and heard mumbling. Instead of announcing his presence, he crept to the door of the sitting room. “Worthless fool,” he heard his lover say with more venom in his voice than he’d ever, in his life, heard. “Idiot boy. Arrogant arse.”

It took a moment for it to register with Harry that his lover was talking to himself. Then, he saw the blade flash in the firelight. “Severus,” he said in an anguished whisper.

Tortured black eyes met haunted green as Severus turned toward his whispered name. His precious blade clattered on the stone floor as he realized that he’d been caught. Someone now knew his secret.


~finite~