Need.

Harry glanced up and saw Snape looking at him with that cruel sneer and was hit with a sudden image of the Potions Master in hooded robes and a Death Eater mask.

And now - god, now it's all he can think about.

He lies in bed at night and imagines Snape in those robes, in that mask, sweeping through the dungeons, chasing him as he runs for his life and Harry stumbles and falls and doesn't get up - doesn't get up because he doesn't want to - doesn't want to survive – wants, wants to get caught. And Harry crawls backwards, scrabbling away from the towering, terrifying Death Eater but not fast enough, not fast enough and he knows, he knows he won't get away because he isn't trying.

Snape reaches down and drags him up by his shirt, crushes him into the wall, and Harry feels the tip of a wand under his throat and feels overwhelmingly visceral relief to think that Avada Kedavra might be the last words he ever hears; looks into those pitch black eyes behind the glowing white mask and feels himself tremble with terror, with need, with want.

Then the world goes blackwhite as the Death Eater backhands Harry and he sprawls to the ground; his lip split and bleeding, his glasses gone. He looks up with unfocused, wanton eyes, his bloody lip trembling with pain and desire as Snape yanks him to his feet and slams his head against the stone; Harry loses his footing, sliding heavily down on an arm that explodes with pain. Nauseating agony lances through his ribcage as Snape's boot connects and he cries out with feelings he can't even decipher.

He tries to push himself up off the floor on one trembling, bleeding hand as the masked Death Eater drags him up, scraping his face against the wall; one strong hand crushes Harry against the rough stone while the other quickly unfastens his trousers and then there is only a world of searing, white-hot fire.

Harry screams as Snape moves inside of him and Harry bucks - away or towards, he doesn't know - screaming out the blistering ball of emotion in his chest and the swelling, all-consuming fear-want-despair-desire-emptiness emerges as only a strangled, desperate please. Snape snarls in his ear and Harry falls to the cold ground, copper-scented wetness sliding between his legs and the Death Eater sneers – dear god, he can see it even under the mask - at Harry: bleeding, broken, alone in the cold, damp, darkness and that's when Harry cries out, spilling over his fist, and trembles with the image of those night-black eyes boring into him as he comes.