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Acceptable losses	By : SweetJerry Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1028 -:- 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-In the years that passed
- 2-Running through my veins
- 1
- 2
Acceptable losses by Lisa Miskovsky

�Main street's empty in
the evening chill

From courthouse tower to griffin mill

Small signs of winter comes creeping down the hills

I saw your shadow on Jackson Street

where the zombie-eyed kids and the speed-queens meet

It's been a long time running through my veins this long lost dream

And I tear it apart and I burn it all down 'cause I have to

God gave me permission to do what it takes to find you

All the friends I betrayed all the enemies made in the process

We've all done the same we're just carrying different crosses

I'm feeling no pain baby - it's acceptable losses

This place got dark in the years that passed

The store-fronts blown I guess nothing lasts

The fighting at the bars still draw wired vengeful crowds

I followed our trail down to Rosewood Park

As the shadows grow tall and the stars come out

Were the backseat lovers used to park their daddy's cars

And I tear it apart and burn it all down �cause I have to

Made a deal with a man at the crossroads who knew where to find you

All the friends I betrayed all the enemies made in the process

Our pain feels the same we're just carrying different crosses

It's all in the game baby - it's acceptable losses

They found your car own at Suicide Bridge

Where the Johnson twins became newsflash kids

But I know you so much better don't believe you'd call it quits

Now I got an old address and I'm waiting there

In the first light of morning at the fire stairs

I can hear someone's coming and suddenly I'm scared

'Cause you ripped me apart and I ran for my life �cause I had to

My heart won't stop bleeding and I'm no longer sure if I want it to

All the friends I betrayed all the enemies made in the process

They're all going down in a accounts of acceptable losses

It's all in the game baby - it's acceptable losses�

***

Chapter
One

In
the years that passed

The ministry searched through Severus
Snape�s house at Spinner�s End after the murder of Albus Dumbledore. However,
they soon found there was nothing there that could give a clue of where he now
was hiding, or what his plans were, or any proof of the assumed murder he had
committed. Anyone with even the slightest acquaintance to Severus would�ve
known that he would never be so sloppy, but apparently it was quite fashionable
among Ministry officials to underestimate the enemy nowadays. So they looked
for orders from the Dark Lord, and letters from other
Death Eaters, but none where found (which is not to say that there weren�t
any�). And so they were just as disappointed as Severus� friends and enemies
alike would�ve guessed. Only faint hints of the personality of the man could be
scavenged from the home, at least for the untrained eye. Severus Snape had
known discipline of his own self that few could even ever begin to understand,
because he knew exactly how vulnerable you could became by letting just one
single person close.

Frustrated, the Ministry people confiscated
the books and potion samples they could find, along with whatever objects with
magical properties they could lay their hands on. Poor pickings, but at least
they could pretend that they had managed something constructive. And back at
the Ministry, they looked through all the Potion�s and Dark Arts books to find
something � anything � that could give them any clues. Once again, they were
empty-handed.

And so was Harry Potter at first, as he
looked through these archived artefacts at the end of the war. Among all the
things that had been considered important and dangerous, nothing contained any
trace of the man he had learned to care about and respect only when he was
already dead. It wasn�t until he opened the few books that the Ministry
officials hadn�t deigned to look through, deeming them to be nothing but
pleasure reading, that he actually found anything of real importance.

On the last, blank page in a battered copy
of Candide he found a sketch of his
mother�s face. In Anna Karenina he
found some old and rather ill-spelled letters from Lily; writing had obviously
not been her strong side. But when he tried to open the oldest book in the
collection, with a cover so worn that it was impossible to make out the title,
his finger was cut open and started to bleed.

�Ouch!� He pulled his hands away and stared
at the blood. The book glowed red for a moment � a warning � and then once more
looked like any old and much loved book. Okay, so that didn�t work. Harry
tapped it experimentally with his wand, and almost jumped through the wall when
the book suddenly spoke.

�Where
does it all begin and end?� The voice of Severus Snape sounded hard and
forbidding.

�Lily Evans� Harry made a wild guess, but
it was a good one. This time, the book glowed green, and swung open before him.

�TRAITOR.�

Harry once more jumped, terrified. That had
not been Snape�s voice, had it? It had happened so fast that he didn�t know
whose voice it was, but he was quite sure it hadn�t been Snape�s. Besides, why �traitor�? He supposed that he could�ve meant
that Lily was a traitor. But the voice was directed at the person that opened
the book. Had Snape seen himself as a traitor? Okay, so it was possible, but if
that was the case then he wouldn�t have needed a book to remind him. Maybe one
of the Death Eaters had known about Snape�s feelings for Harry�s mother? But
why hadn�t they spilled the beans for Voldemort? No, it didn�t make sense.

He looked down on the title page. In faded
ink, the words �For Severus Snape on his
eleventh birthday. Congratulations. Lily�, were
painstakingly spelled out. It was a copy of Alice
in Wonderland, and the page was adorned with a picture of the white rabbit,
poring over his pocket watch and looking nervous. The drawing was a good one;
you could almost see the rabbit tapping his big, white foot; you could almost
make yourself believe that the floppy ears had twitched the moment you looked
away.

The pages were yellowed with age and frayed
from frequent use. Harry imagined his stern Professor Snape sitting down with a
cup of cocoa and this book, curling up in a big armchair with a thick blanket
around his knees. The image made him smile, and it was with this smile still on
his lips that he turned the page.

It was with a somewhat faltering smile that
he watched a thick stack of letters dropping into his lap. They could never
have fitted between the pages of the rather small volume, but somehow the space
where they had been tucked looked bigger than it possibly could be. Harry
suspected that it was a version of the Extension Charm that Hermione had put on
her bag.

Carefully putting the book aside, he picked
up the letters. They were wrapped with a simple linen thread, tied in a neat
little bow, and there must�ve been at least twenty fat envelopes. On the
topmost letter someone had scribbled �Severus�,
apparently in a hurry. More letters from his mother? But no. Whoever wrote this had a gently flowing hand �
really quite pleasant � and not the zigzag scrawl of Lily Evans.

So who, then, had sat down to write Severus
Snape all these letters? Carefully making a clean cut in the first envelope
with his wand, Harry pulled out the first sheet of paper, and started to read:

Severus

I don�t think you think much about our
time together, not even now, when we cannot avoid each other�s presence. I
think you�ve almost forgotten, that you only can remember how much you hate me,
how much you wish that you could�ve changed what happened. I think you lie
awake at night, wishing you had stopped me. You probably blame yourself; you
probably really believe that you could�ve made a difference.

But while you should blame
yourself, blame yourself mercilessly, rest assured that there was nothing,
absolutely nothing, you could�ve done. As with everyone else, it was your
underestimating of me that finally made it impossible for you to see the
danger. And not until it was by far too late did you understand.

But what I really want to have said is
that I think about it, all the time; that short time when I actually
allowed myself to dream. While you dreamed of her, I dreamed of you, and we
made each other�s dreams impossible.

I wonder if you ever asked yourself why; if
you knew me well enough back then to know that to say that I wanted to be
friends with the nastiest bully on the playground is a far too simple
explanation. Then again, I already know you underestimated me. So maybe the
thought never crossed your mind that there was something far uglier, far deeper
and more unpleasant, behind it all.

There was. There is. And the thought won�t
leave me any peace as I live here like an illness that�s slowly infecting your
already pale and bloodless life; just as wanted, just as greedy in my wish to
devour everything that�s you. I think that we both can agree that there is
nothing left for me to live for. Your emptiness left in you a purpose; mine
left in me dark lethargy and a terrible fear of death, of emptiness even deeper
and hungrier.

What all these words are trying to form is a wish for you to know my part of the story, a
wish I can no longer repress, nor do I even particularly want to. You will
probably want to kill me when you�ve read it, for my story makes it far too
easy to place all the blame on me. But maybe I will kill you first, for when
I�ve told you this story I might not love you anymore. If I still do, I will
run away, and this time nobody will ever find me again. And I suppose that will
make me as good as dead. Or as bad.

If you died today, you would not think of
me, not even for a moment. That is why I have to write this.

Peter

Harry stared at the letter in his hands,
his mind blank and his body quite numb from shock and incomprehension. Slowly,
he put the piece of parchment away, leaning his head in his hands as his
thoughts starting to churn with terrible momentum, faster and faster and
faster.

He had found a part of Severus� life that
he hadn�t known of, a part of it that probably would make him understand the
man better. That was what he had been looking for. That was what he had been craving since he had seen the last,
vulnerable thoughts of Severus Snape played in front of his eyes. But this
wasn�t what he had been hoping to find! With disgust he watched the writing
that crawled black and spindly across the whiteness of parchment. It didn�t
look so appealing anymore, as he imagined Pettigrew�s stubby fingers holding
the quill, dipping it in the ink, slowly tracing the letters and forming these
damning sentences.

He didn�t want to have his memory of
another hero tarnished, yet the episode with Dumbledore had taught him not to
judge by what the first impression seemed to indicate. And he had already read
too much to resist finding out what kind of story these letters would tell.

Picking up the second piece of paper, he
gritted his teeth and allowed the last tale to be told about the time of
Heroes.

***

Peter hung back, more from habit than
anything else. Oh, well, that wasn�t really true. The real reason was that he was pathetically shy and didn�t dare to sit
by the bar, and even more impossible was the thought of dancing. No, not him, not Peter. That wasn�t how things worked. So he
took his drink � which was far too strong for him anyway and he probably wouldn�t
dare to drink it � and found himself a table in a shadowed part of the pub. He
didn�t even know why he was there, all alone, when he knew that he would rather
chew of his left arm than face the indignity of trying fruitlessly to chat up
one of the strangers in here, none of whom would ever dream of being interested
in someone that was fat, unattractive and socially incompetent.

He just knew that for one evening, he had
fancied feeling just a bit brave. Wearing one of the pink badges was brave. It was admitting what he was
to people he didn�t know or trust, something he had never done before. As a
matter of fact, he had never let anyone at all know before.

The system with the badges had been
invented on this very club when the clever owner noticed the embarrassing
situations that sometimes occurred when someone tried to chat up a boy or a
girl with the wrong kind of sexuality, and it had pretty soon spread to quite a
lot of wizarding pubs. Girls interested in boys wore red badges; girls
interested in girls wore blue. Boys interested in girls wore green badges and
boys interested in boys wore pink. Those open to suggestion wore purple.

Remus preferred being home with a book to
going out drinking. Sirius and James were in Austria skiing with James� parents.
Peter ran no risk of being found out. Nobody else from school would recognise
him; it wasn�t as if anyone ever noticed him. Or so he thought, until he heard
an unfriendly chuckle behind his back and someone drawled �Pettigrew? Oh, this
is too wonderful��

He spun around, his cheeks already
colouring and his heart beating madly, only to be pinned by a pair of black
eyes; a trapped butterfly against the back of his chair, fluttering madly but
getting nowhere.

�S-snape! What� you� I��

�Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. And with a pink
badge, too. Really, what would your friends say if they knew?�

�W-what�s it to you?� Peter answered, not
quite managing to keep the desperation out of his voice, scrambling franticly
for words. �I� You are� Well, it�s not like you�re much better, is it?� He only
just now noticed the purple badge that was pinned to Severus� chest, glowing
faintly in the semi-darkness.

Snape didn�t appear to have heard him. He
leaned forward, his hands gripping tightly around the backrest of the chair, his
eyes narrowing in malicious glee. �They don�t
know, do they? You�re too much a coward to tell. You�re afraid they won�t want
to be friends with you anymore. You�re afraid they�ll think that you�re
disgusting, aren�t you? They probably would. You probably are.�

It was horrible, much more horrible because
it was true. Peter shrank back, but he couldn�t escape with Snape blocking the
way. Closing his eyes, he hoped to shut out that venomous stare, but it burned
straight through his eyelids and into his brain, making a dark hole that
quickly filled up with shame and humiliation and numb, thoughtless frustration.
Why did it have to be him? Of all the
people in the world that he could be hopelessly in love with � for there was no
hope for him, not with anyone � it had to be Severus Snape, a person who
loathed everything that he was, and who took pleasure in tormenting him.
Righteous pleasure too.

But sometime in his fourth or fifth year,
Peter had more crashed than fallen in love with Severus Snape. Maybe it was the
awkward way Snape moved, or the graceful dance of his fingers when he was
making potions. Maybe it was the way his forehead wrinkled when he
concentrated, or the way he would hum softly to himself when he though no one
could hear him. Maybe it was the prideful way his eyes would burn and his mouth
would twist when he was angry; maybe the sardonic and warm smile he sometimes
bestowed on his friends. Peter didn�t know, for he had tried very hard not to
analyse the feeling, hoping it would go away if he ignored it. Hoping in vain, of course.

He opened his eyes when he both heard and
felt how Snape�s body slid into the chair next to his. The other boy was
leaning his sharp chin in his hands and watching Peter with eyes that shone
like the blackest of pearls. Those thin lips � they must be so warm, they must
be so soft � were still curled to form a sharp little crescent moon of
derisiveness.

�Please, just let me be�
he pleaded feebly, hating himself for how his voice hitched, giving away the
tears that he was trying so hard to choke back.

�No. I don�t think I will.� He had a voice
like silk, smooth and cold, and he wrapped it around Peter�s throat, gently
tightening the noose. It was impossible to talk, very hard to breathe, and when
he tried to busy himself by taking a deep gulp of his drink he almost choked on
it.

�This is too much fun� Snape purred.

And Peter didn�t know why he reacted like
he did, if it was because he was angry and humiliated and hurt, or if it was
the sudden rush of alcohol to his head, or just the noise of the pub and
Snape�s voice and the sudden deepening darkness around him making him panic.
When he tried to recall it, it was all like a dream; there was some logical
step missing, some part of reasoning that was obscured. All he could remember
for sure was how a small, angry tear had freed itself and slunk shamefully down
his cheek, and as Snape laughed with almost childish delight,
his boneless anger became white-hot and steel-encased fury. He lashed out with
his hand, catching Snape under the chin with a backhand blow and then, when
Snape staggered backwards out of his chair, he shot after him with the energy
of an avenging angel. And before he could stop himself, before he could even
understand what this sudden madness was doing to him, his arms had shot up
Severus� back, trailing the snaking, dangerous spine, pulling himself closer to
that cage of bone where he knew that the heart of the other boy banged itself
sore in hopes of freedom�

He kissed him. He was angry and he was in
tears, he was full of violence and blood and the screams of animals, he was
insane, he was out of his mind, he was kissing Severus Snape and Snape was�

�Snape was kissing him back. As if his life
depended on it.

He tasted of alcohol, quite strongly so.
Peter had only drunk that one gulp of the drink that was now a quickly
spreading, sticky red puddle amidst a thousand shards of broken glass, but he
had a feeling that Snape more than a bit drunk right now. And this was probably
a very bad idea, surely it was just alcohol and shock that had saved him from
Severus� wrath, surely that was all there was to this kiss.
Alcohol and shock and surprise and fury and sorrow and disappointment and a
longing so sweet, so perfect�

They backed away from each other for a
moment, stood panting and sweating, staring dumbly and trying to read each
other�s minds. Peter was so nervous that a taste of bitter gall snuck its way
into his mouth.

And then Snape looked away, grabbing
Peter�s arm and squeezing it roughly with steely white fingers. �I know a place
we can go� he said.

***

Snape had told him that they were in a
friend�s apartment, and Peter couldn�t figure out why he was frightened. But
being in this place, all alone with someone he didn�t trust, kissing him as
they lay entwined in bed that smelled strange, in a room that was dark and
unfamiliar� It gave him a feeling of that it wasn�t real, or perhaps that he
had stepped out of his life, of his time, of the world he knew, floundering
helplessly with only one person to hold on to, a person that suddenly looked
like a stranger.

Suddenly, there were cold hands against his
skin, softly probing. He wanted to pull away, because he suddenly realised that
he was ugly and unattractive and if Snape touched him he must notice and� But
no, now the hands were pulling his robe up, trying urgently to remove it, and
Peter had no choice but to squirm clumsily out of it. His breath hitched and
hitched again, as his underwear went the same way. Snape somehow managed to
squirm out of his own clothes at the same time, and Peter turned his head away
with a whimper. He wanted to tell the other boy that it was because he was
beautiful, that it was unbearable to handle, that something inside him hurt to
see that beauty so close, like staring at the sun. But he couldn�t, the words
stuck in his throat with his breath and that soft, wonderful tongue that was
once more there, opening him, choking him, teasing him, hurting him.

They pressed their bodies together, didn�t
know what to do, but none of them dared speak, none dared to break that
terrible silence that was made from ragged breath and pounding hearts and the
noise of the street outside. It was humiliating, terribly humiliating;
floundering and fumbling and trying to touch without touching. Finally, a long-fingered
hand braved the distance and wrapped itself around a part of Peter that he very
rarely even acknowledged. Whimpering, he fell back against the bed, boneless by
the sudden wave of something that was both pleasure and pain, unable to hold
back as his body thrashed once, twice. He came within ten seconds, tears
streaming down his face as he frantically gasped for air.

He didn�t know how long time he spent
trying to coax the faintly moaning Snape to come, using his mouth and his
tongue and his hands. Finally, all it took was a kiss. As their lips met, Snape
closed his eyes, bucked and thrust, his body sliding against Peters almost
seamlessly, their skin slick with sweat. Peter heard small, shuddering gasp
from pale lips turned red as they had kissed each other bloody, Snape�s body
formed a rigid arch for a trembling second, and then he fell back against the
sheets, trembling as if exhausted. Still, they said nothing, just huddled
closer together for warmth and for comfort.

Later, as Peter was drifting off to sleep,
he could still hear Snape breathing in shallow gasps, as if suddenly afraid of
what he had done.

***

�That was the first time, for me and for
you alike. Two terrified virgins clutching each other for dear life, yet barely
daring to touch, to come close, fearing rejection as we had scarcely feared
anything before. We didn�t know what to do; we had to learn as we went along,
anxiously trying to read each other�s reactions in the dark. It was really very
bad, as sex goes, but it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Yes,
that was what I thought. Or no, it was what I believed, so intensely
that it actually hurt me to think of it. I was very foolish back then, I admit.

And even if I came much too quickly, and
you had problems coming at all, I was in bliss as I fell asleep, my body
awkwardly angled in that small, small bed. I had never dared to hope for
anything like that, and never even dared to dream about you in that way; the
closest I had ever gotten was shameful little half-dreams, crippled fantasies
alone in my bed as I twisted futilely against the sheets and pitied myself.

Now, I allowed myself for the first time
to confess aloud � to the empty darkness and the soft sound of your breathing �
that yes, I loved you. Only in a whisper, but it was still
put to words, and that was what mattered.

Harry put away the parchment on the table,
shuddering with revulsion. Reading it had been like watching a movie being
played inside his head, and he really wished he hadn�t. He couldn�t imagine
what had made Snape do that with someone that all logic suggested that he
should loath. Harry was sure as hell that if Malfoy had done that to him, he would�ve punched his lights out.
The thought of anyone having sex with Peter Pettigrew was revolting; the thought
of Snape having it was upsetting and wrong.

He stood up and closed Alice in Wonderland, putting all the books back where he had found
them with a quick wave of his wand. But as he walked out of the Ministry
building, the weight of the letters in his pocket throbbed like an ache.
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Acceptable losses