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A is for Damnation	By : ElectricAndroid Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1188 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

Chapter List
- 1-A is for Damnation
- 1
Title: 'A' is for Damnation

Other pairings: None

Rating PG-13

Warnings: character death

Challenge: (at end of story - else plot will be spoiled)

Written for: cirquedusangre
- I hope this is something like what you desired

A/N: This is an odd little story; but it refused to get out of my head. I hope
that it makes sense, and I hope that you all enjoy it. Many thanks to underlucius
for her amazing beta work. All other mistakes are mine.

�A� is for Damnation

Brand of The Sire.

When Snape looks at Draco, he sees an infinity of perfectly proportioned mirror
images, marching steadily off into history. A creature bred for grace, for
beauty, refined decade after decade into this small blond parcel of a boy. He
knows that nothing has been left to chance. Draco would have been prepared and
moulded from such an early age, refined into a human stiletto, a blade to
pierce without more than the most cursory mark of its passage. A weapon to
pierce the enemies of the house of Malfoy.

And Severus knows that he is one.

Whatever the blond haired bastard may say, Severus knows that Draco was sent to
Hogwarts to taunt him. Severus� fascination with Lucius, with Narcissa, a
panting pup at their heels throughout their schooling, was well documented. For
Lucius to play on such, to drag the object of his desires in front of his face,
day by tortuous day, would be nothing short of ordinary. Lucius Malfoy has
always been a cruel man.

And now his son seems to be the same. Severus watches each indiscretion, each
cruel taunting which would most often result in a detention or worse. Yet he
cannot lift a finger against this imago Malfoy. Too many years of
indoctrination stand in his path. Too many years of service to their House.

They are older now, and he can see Draco�s eyes flash brilliant white at the
sight of his potion�s master, his professor, brought finally to his knees.
Voldemort was cruel to traitors, but if truth be told he needed Severus�
skills. He was thankful for this, if for little else. Surely his master had
known what he was doing, binding him to the Malfoys once more.

Each day passes by in a paroxysm of boredom and fear. There is no light, there
is no sound, only the ceaseless chatter of his stuttering fingers pouring from
glass, to phial, to cauldron. A wasting curse, that is what they call it.
Severus calculates that at this rate, he will just live to see Voldemort win
the war. And then his body will give one last spasm, and collapse. He looks
forward to the release.

The Day of the Apple

Voldemort won, and Severus was allowed to see the light once more. By this time
he could hardly move under his own steam, the clattering of his bones jerked in
Brownian motion, all angles and edges. He had no support, and yet he inched his
way upwards, inch by painful inch, the skin scraping off the tips of his
fingers against the roughly hewn rock. When he reached the top, a flagstone
held him captive. He could hear his harsh breathing echoing downwards.

Then a creak, a grate, and like a maggot under a rock, Severus was exposed to
sunlight. All around him was yellow-white, and he crawled gracelessly forward
until an ankle blocked his path. A fine-turned ankle, complete with silken
hose, and leather boots. The ankle of a Malfoy. He could not mistake it
anywhere.

He looked up, but the sun shimmered down so hard that it could be all of them,
any of them, or even the angel Azrael, erasing his name from the book of life.
A hand reached down towards him and Severus was mesmerised by the perfect
fractals of light ricocheting off of it. He could stare at it all day, this
series of rainbows, and be lost amongst their colours. As the finger sweeps
forward to touch his brow, he faints. This is too much for one only used to the
dark dungeon.

He comes to under a weeping willow tree, the branches tickling his bare feet.
The impression startles him; it has been a while since he felt any coherent
sensation in his extremities. The light is dimmer here, and Severus wonders if
he has found himself on the banks of some heavenly river.

One look to his right reinforces this notion. In a fair universe, there is no chance
that the spawn of Beelzebub could be so beautiful. And this universe has never
been fair to him.

Draco Malfoy, stockings and shoes by his side, is dangling his feet in the cool
water. In his hand he holds a perfect pocketknife, and delicately peels an
apple. Severus watches hypnotised as each coil plops into the stream, to be
swiftly rushed by the current on its way downriver. That is how he feels, right
at the moment. Shed of his skin, of his rind, capable of beginning anew.

�Are you all right, Severus?� Draco�s first words, the �Papa� and Lucius�s grey
eyes lighting up with delightIt is an odd feeling, the sheer pride which
accompanies someone�s undying devotion. Almost a rebirth. There is something
between then, some cord pulling them taunt. With breathless anticipation, he
watches Draco insert a wedge of apple into his mouth.

The sweetness is electric.

That is what Severus remembers after the apple. Infinite sweetness passing
through him, as if he were experiencing each taste bud tenfold, as if the apple
had been placed between his own teeth, against his own tongue. And Draco is
staring at him, pleasure washing over his face. But how? This could not be. He
had done nothing to deserve this.

Severus takes the fruit and knife, then slices a piece. His hands shudder, his
fingers grasp the blade awkwardly, but he manages. He inserts it between
Draco�s lips, a ghost of a breath pulsing against him. He feels it like an
earthquake.

The sweetness is back, only more vivid. Severus groaned against his scratching
vocal cords. Here was something which would bear investigation. But a look at
Draco told him that investigation could wait for another day.

Parted lips of the cherubim, the eyes of the Caesars. A flush unfurling over
alabaster cheek. Severus was entranced by the minutiae, too entranced to take
in the expression of a boy, who for all the world appeared to be experiencing
his first orgasm. The moan brought Severus to his knees. Leaning over the
supine boy, watching the tracery of the willow leaves over his face, Severus
bent over and kissed him.

He tasted of apple, of sunshine.

The Melting Days

It was a heady fondue of a summer. The days wove into one another, Draco�s head
on the pillow, Draco�s tongue laving his body, Draco�s hand as he diced and fed
him his meals. By now, Severus was bed bound, but Draco ordered a palanquin for
him every morning, and they would sit out on the terrace of the Malfoy Manor.
Silver pince-nez upon his nose, Draco would read him the latest journals, the
latest news, often scratching notes down the margins. For the first time,
Severus knew peace.

There was a bond between them. �Soul mates� was a trite definition, but Severus
could think of little else each time the boy wrapped his mouth around his cock.
This bond was for life, that was certain; but what little life Severus had left
he knew not.

But there was the boy, the boy who would conjure fresh apples for him each day.
And then slice them, so deft and so sure, each piece feeding off of the other,
a spiral of sensation coursing through their bodies. Severus believed that this
is what copulation would feel like, this heady bliss. Not that he would ever
know. But he had Draco, and his apples, and his peace. Who could ask for more.

Apples. The fruit of eternal damnation. Severus could not see how something as
inoffensive as an apple could be the root of all evil. Even the infamous Malfoy
fa�ade cracked at an apple. Draco looked down on the simple fruit with such
pleasure and gratitude. It warmed Severus. Not that he did not feel the same.
No, apples put him more in mind of celestial bodies, forever rotating in their
elliptical orbits. Draco as his satellite, his moon. An image which never
failed to bring tears to his eyes.

As each day fed into the next, Severus took comfort in the routine. The fruit
in the morning, a bright brittle spot of pain and sweetness. Then lunch
outside, under the oak tree. Dinner, well, wherever Draco felt that they ought
to take it. And at night he would look through the gossamer sheets at Draco�s
sleeping form. Pain could keep him up, but at least beauty stilled his screams.

He was lucky. At the end of his life, yes, but lucky. One dying man; who was
drowning in an alabaster sea. He could think of worse ways to go.

Couldn�t put Humpty Together Again

Severus is now completely bed bound. The sun scorches his skin even through the
damask drapes, and he seems to be a myopic necrotic mole humped under the
covers. But Draco stays with him every night.

His surcease is found in each taste of an apple, that long lost reminder of
sunlight. It seems an age ago, but has merely been a year. Well, at least it
was one year in which he experienced a modicum of happiness. His pupils focus
on Draco, those grey eyes so placid. He wonders what it would take to break
those still waters. But why is he pondering, he knows the answer.

It is an apple.

Draco had watched Severus refuse all sustenance besides the fruit, half smiling
and half grimacing. And in a way Severus is happy, happy that he should die
first. He would hate to see that porcelain face turn to dust. No, it is better
like this, better that Draco should go on, could go on. Draco could live with
the memories. It was enough for him.

Severus� breathing becomes laboured, and Draco fetches the Healer once more. If
only he were strong enough to brew his own medicine instead of dousing down the
swill that passes for a professional potion nowadays. Too much camphor, not
enough asphodel. He tells them, but they just quiet him and roll him over. At
least he is spared the indignity of a sponge bath. Draco takes care of that.

The world starts to blur around the edges, like it has done a dozen times
before. Severus can almost feel the hands pulling him forth into the unknown,
the faces of Albus, of Potter, in a shining benediction. He knows that at some
point, this struggle will cease, but he would rather have Draco by his side.

That night is a calm one. Severus can hear the rustle of the birds in the
trees, the soft unlaboured breaths of Draco besides him. The pieces slot into
place, and he knows that it is time. He reaches out a hand to touch Draco, but
his hand can only move half the distance, the cotton sheets provide too much
friction. As he drifts out of consciousness, he hears the monitoring spells sound.
Severus struggles forth, to catch one last glimpse of those silver eyes. The
word �Death� is muttered by the Healers as he cracks his lids a fraction.

Draco waves his wand. �Finite Incantatem� The apple is redder than blood.

Draco bites into it, silver eyes shining.

A spell. The perfect betrayal.

Severus closes his eyes.

Challenge: Hmmm... let's make things interesting... I want Draco to be
irredeemably evil, and Snape to be reluctantly good, and yet the two of them
are soulmates anyway. And no fluff. Or MPREG.
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A is for Damnation