Memory

Memory

NC-17 OotP - SS/JP

This is the rest of Snape’s Worst Memory, after he pulled Harry from the pensieve. Non-con behaviour, humiliation, NastyJames! Snapey-whomping ahead. I’m not sure what dark mental hole this crawled out of; it’s not pretty. You have been warned.

The Potterverse belongs to JKR...I just like to play in it.

Memory – by Mortifyd

He had destroyed his workroom, flinging carefully labeled jars and vials at Potter the Younger as he had fled; Snape was still shaking with rage. The pensieve was in one piece on his desk, the silvery strands of his memory mockingly intact.

He considered dashing it against the wall, spilling the pain instead of drowning in it, but he didn’t. Severus didn’t know why he dwelled on this memory, toyed with it, cut himself with it. Then again, maybe he did; but he wasn’t going to think about it now. Snape turned and whispered the charm that sealed his door and settled himself at his desk.

It was always the same game, the same players; a ritual for him, willing and unwilling participants played their parts alike. He composed himself, then prodded the silvery wisp with the tip of his wand. Snape was sixteen and hanging upside down again.

“Right. Who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?” James asked.

This was where he had stopped Harry, but it wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning.

The biting taste of the soap was still in his mouth; he could feel the fading summer sunlight on his pale and currently useless legs. A breeze caressed his skin, but he wasn’t shivering from the air. He knew what was coming next and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Their laughter rang in his ears as his face burned and stomach boiled.

Snape felt more than heard the words as his underpants slid up to his ankles. His robes hung over his face, the only merciful moment; but a moment was all he had of mercy. James twitched his wand and his robes flared around him, baring his face. His hair danced on the grass in time to their laughter, James flicking his wand in the air like some demented conductor while Sirius howled. Lupin looked away, prefect badge spattering red and gold light across the grass as the sun set; he did nothing.

Sirius tired of their game and wandered off, Lupin loped along after him, ashamed he was unwilling to make James stop. James let Severus drop onto the ground with a crash, breaking his nose as he bounced face first against the turf. Pettigrew watched tensely, then escaped under the pretext of chasing the snitch that James had abandoned. He ran to the castle leaving James and Snape alone in the growing darkness.

James ran his free hand through his hair and sat on the ground next to Snape. He lay there limply, no point in struggling against the charm; they had been through this part before.

“Not going to wriggle in the dirt a bit?” Potter laughed softly and twitched his wand again. “Like the snake you are, Snivelly?” Severus’ body twisted in the dirt, robes rucked up around his arms, pinning them to his scrawny chest.

“Acc-” he whispered, but James cut him off.

“Silencio!” He twitched his wand, pressing Severus into the ground. Blood ran from his over sized nose into the grass and dirt, covering his face with muck. His clothing was filthy; grass stained and muddied, socks and underpants full of dirt. He was also aroused. He was suddenly glad of the Silencing Charm James had put on him, it made the shame of moaning easier to bear. At least until James flipped him over.

“Why, Snivellus! I had no idea you liked me that much,” James laughed darkly. To Severus’ horror his erection only got stronger. His mouth worked silently, dark spots of blood; grass and dirt stuck to his chin and nose.

“Sick little Slytherin perv, aren’t you then, Snape?” James bounced him off the ground sharply. His prick smacked against his belly with a wet sound; his arse pressed against a root of the tree behind them.

“Bet you watch in the showers, don’t you?” James dug in his bag and pulled out his invisibility cloak, flipping it neatly over himself with one hand. “Oh, wait! YOU don’t take showers, ou, ou, Snivelly?” He had Snape’s wand in his pocket and no one would miss them for at least half an hour. “Do your housemates know?” He laughed as Severus struggled at his feet; the Jinx was starting to wear off.

“Does Malfoy put on a little show for you?” Potter adjusted the hood of his cloak so that only his face floated above Snape’s body. He twitched open the front, stunned Severus with another Jinx and worked open his robes.

Potter put on a little show of his own. Severus lay on the ground shivering and filthy, breathing through his mouth. He was white with rage, unable to look away as James leered and stroked himself, called him filthy names; laughed as he struggled. James stiffened and gasped, hot rain spattered across Severus’ face and hair.

James closed his robes and chucked Snape’s wand into the high grass by the edge of the lake. The Jinx would be wearing off in about twenty minutes, plenty of time for him to get back to GreaGreat Hall and get a bite of dinner without arousing suspicion.

“See you, Snivelly,” he said conversationally. He closed the cloak around himself and was gone.

Severus stopped fighting the Charm and caught his breath, struggling to keep his stomach under control. Wetness filled his ears, his arms and legs began to tingle and burn as feeling returned. He was bruised and sore, cold and hungry; covered in filth and burning with rage.

Snape’s wand lay somewhere in the dark marshy edge of the lake, he already felt filthy and was exhausted. He coughed and spit; pm anm and blood and other things best not dwelled on. He gagged anyway, rolling onto his side, pain shooting up his side and back. His stomach heaved, he coughed and choked; his throat raw, voice raspy. Thin strings of spittle tethered him to the ground.

“Accio!” he whispered. Snape struggled to his knees, head lolling between thin shoulders. His wand smacked him in the side of the head, then bounced off his nose; fresh coppery blood ran over his lips. The world swam in and out of focus as he reeled on hands and knees.

He dumped the dirt, grass and twigs out of his underpants and socks, then redressed. He was shocked to discover that his robes were stained; horrified when he realized he had stained them. He wiped his face on his sleeve, staunching fresh blood with his tie, then began the grim walk back to the castle.

He tried to get Potter’s cum out of his hair, off his face; tears began to stream and he ducked into the shadows until he could get himself together. He wiped his face again carefully, ran his fingers through his hair again; it was st, bu, but probably not as noticeable as before. Snape ran up the steps of the entrance to the castle and headed for the dungeons.

He nearly flew down the steps, through the corridors to the blank wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He gasped the password and ran through the arch and down into his room, ignoring the curious looks from his housemates. He dug under his bed for his trunk, then sat down on it to catch his breath.

Severus took a long shuddering breath and hauled himself to his feet, then dragged the trunk onto his bed. He pulled out spare robes and another equally gray pair of underpants; eventually he found a pair of sloppy wool socks to add to the pile. He checked his face before heading to the showers; one eye blackened, lower lip split and swollen. His hair was just as bad, he tried to pick out the worst offending leaves and twigs, but it was still a manky mess.

He grabbed the pile and slipped out of the room, down to the boys’ shower. He stripped off his filthy things and threw them to the floor under a row of hooks. He would never wear those clothes again. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it and stepped into the spray, leaning his head against the tiled wall with a sigh.

Hot water ran over his shoulders, reddening sallow skin as the bruises on his back, arse and legs bloomed, mud sliding down his legs as he shivered and tried to get warm. Pink tinged water swirled between his feet as he tipped his head back; he hissed and gently wiped the crust of blood from his nostrils, finally tipping his head back and rinsing his sinuses, black hair shimmering in the light.

The hot water and lack of air made him dizzy; he ducked his head and let gravity clear his senses as he gasped for breath in the steamy room. He briefly considered allowing himself to fall to the floor and attempt to drown as the drain gurgled, a little song of death. Severus dismissed it and focused on reclaiming himself. He would not give the bastard the satisfaction of gloating over a pathetic suicide attempt, or if he succeeded, over his untimely death.

Severus scrubbed his pale skin raw; it did nothing to wash away the hatred, the burn of his flesh seated it deeper in his heart. He washed his hair until it squeaked in his hands, stripped of anything that might have been in it; then washed his face gingerly, taking care with his blacked eye and tender nose, his split and swollen lip. Finally he turned the water off.

Snape took a towel off the neat stack in the corner and began to dry himself slowly; first his hair, then his face and neck, ever so gently. His body ached, despite the loosened muscles and heat flushed skin.

He dried himself completely and slipped on his fresh underpants, then examined himself in the mirror. His back and legs were covered in scrapes, small cuts and darkening bruises. Severus’ face was a mess, his nose had swelled to match his lip from a break along the bridge and his left eye was almost swollen shut.

“I hate you, James Potter,” he whispered to himself under his breath, “You will regret this.” He put on his robes gingerly and gathered his discarded clothing, then headed back to his room. He dumped the filthy robes on the stone floor and burned them. Snape checked the time and limped to the hospital wing. He would not finish the year looking like he was beat to hell and back; that was what home was for.

“Mr. Snape! What happened to you?” she asked sharply, clicking her tongue at his bedraggled appearance.

“Nothing, Madam Pomfrey,” he said quietly.

“You and Potter at it again, Severus?” She shook her head with a little huff. “As if you boys don’t have enough to busy yourselves with, taking the O.W.L.s this year.” She was all business, though there was an odd look in her eyes Severus tried to ignore.

“Right. Let’s have a look at you then.” She fixed his face, then eased the major bruises with a tonic. They talked quietly about medical potions for a few moments; then he left. He didn’t see her sad gaze follow him.

He got back to his room just before curfew. Avery and Rosier had left some cauldron cakes and a couple of butterbeers on his bed; the curtains of their bunks were closed, soft snores buzzed off the stone walls. He ate ravenously; the butterbeer warmed the chill from his bones.

Finally, Severus crawled into his bunk and closed the curtains around him, wrapping himself in the darkness. He couldn’t sleep, but replayed it over and over; crying until his roommates stirred and they all began another day. He never made a sound.

The adult Severus leaned back in his chair and sighed. His office was trashed; his head throbbed. He put his wand into the silvery threads and gathered them on the tip of it, then replaced them in his head.

A few flicks of his wand and the room was restored; he took his quill and made a list of the things he would need to replace. Snape gathered his robes around him and retired to his bedchamber. He undressed and fell into the bed with a groan, pulling the drapes shut behind him.

“I hate you, James Potter,” he whispered in the dark, as he did every night. “But I will protect your son, even if it means my death.” He didn’t sleep for a long time.