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Spoils of War	By : ladyofarundel Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4663 -:- 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
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Part I, Seven Months Earlier
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over gone finally he’s gone I’ve done it oh gods please help me what no please hurts has he done no please hurts fire hurts dying blood Severus! drowning can’t breathe hurts die please let me hurts no more please let me please help me Severus Severus Severus Severus help me Severus help me find me help me Severus help me please please i promise please help me—

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For a long time there was only darkness.

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Darkness and nothingness, until slowly the inside of his eyelids turned a silvery red. Silver brought pain rolling and flooding everywhere, until he couldn't tell where the pain ended and he began, save the stabbing pain threatening to split his skull. The heavy silence was at last broken by a weak, raspy keen deep from someone's throat. He tried to open his mouth to ask but couldn't, instead spasming in pain as breath was torn from his raw lungs, oh please— He was drowning in the air, it was crushing him, he was sure this was death.

"Hush, little one, sleep."

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Time passed.

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The light against his eyelids returned and he found himself moaning through parched limp lips. A hand pressed against his forearm in comfort, but the touch sent a thousand silver blades through his body. His back arched off the bed and he gasped for bleeding air and the hand hastily jerked away.

"So sorry, little one. Sleep , sleep it away as I watch over you—"

The jumble of sounds he would later recognize as Latin faded away.

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He could now distinguish legs from fingers from lips, but the keening remained. Was that coming from his own throat? He could distinguish that, too, and it was on fire. Gentle pressure on his lips and cold, bittersweet liquid spilled into his mouth. He gurgled, and gentle fingers coaxed his throat to swallow.

"That's it, drink little one."

Silver gave way to nothingness.

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Cold, it was too cold.

He shivered, small tremors wracking his overtaxed form. Fingers of ice sliding against his sweat-drenched skin—he tried to scream but only the same swallowed whimper vibrated in his throat. A goblet pressed against his mouth and he obediently opened, expecting the sweet substance that always eased him so, but the taste was fowl if vaguely familiar.

He gagged and the stuff dribbled down his chin.

"You must drink, sweet one, we need to lower your fever."

The ice coaxed open his lips and forced the liquid down, melting ice soothing against his brow as he spasmed against the taste.

"I know, I know," the voice consoled.

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If he held perfectly still the pain now dulled to an acceptable steady hum. The sweet and salty liquid tipped into his mouth and he managed to swallow it on his own volition. Someone lifted his hand to hold it in their own, but the pain of the careful movement overwhelmed him, and the silver light gave way to black.

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His voice returned next and he screamed until his throat and lungs surely dripped in blood. Arms closed about him and held him still, touch and pressure no longer adding to the agony. He still could not open his eyes but the silver suddenly flashed reds and greens and he screamed.

"Hush, love, it's over, he's gone and I have you now. Safe now, mine now, little one."

Darkness.

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He lay this time on his stomach, nose buried in the pillow, exotic strange smells in silky cotton, damp against his cheek from tears of pain. Someone gently rubbed his bare back with a salve and he could feel the rawness melting away under the feathery touch.

"Sweet, beautiful boy."

The hands soothed him to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Greedily gulping the familiar liquid the blessed hands offered him he immediately relaxed, body and soul, and no longer minded as strong arms plucked him from the bed and gathered him into a warm lap, blankets pulled close.

"Sweet boy, isn't that so much better?"

He murmured incoherent yeses as the steady heartbeat led him to sleep.

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On his stomach again, but the comforting weight of the blankets were gone. A body came to press against his back and he nuzzled back into the welcome warmth. The gentle, omnipresent hands brushed across his bare chest and stroked his stomach and it no longer brought pain but something warm and nice. Weight so warm and comforting and heavy enveloping his small frame and he attempted his first word since the darkness and silver began their struggle over him.

"Severus?"

He couldn't quite remember what the word meant but he knew it once meant something, something safe, and that it once meant something and that he could remember it once meant something was the most important thing.

"Shh, mine now, pretty little one."

And the hands slid lower and that was significant too but he couldn't quite remember why, and the life-giving hands caressed his flaccid penis through his thin pajama bottoms. His body was far too weak respond but he sighed happily against the warmth.

"Severus," he confirmed.

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He couldn't sleep without the warm weight wrapped around him to ward off the darkness and the potion down his throat to keep away the pain. The weight rocked against him and the hands stroked him and the voice whispered a new word in his ear until it rolled off his tongue as freely as the other.

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The hands always made the pain go away, bringing warmth and the silver light and driving away the spiraling green and black accompanied by forgotten screams. As the potion coated his throat the hands most often liked to caress the soft flesh between his legs as lips kissed the swollen zigzag on his forehead. The voice stayed quiet save for the quickened hiss of its gentle breath as the hands danced, almost as if it were in anticipation of something but he knew not what. He simply cooed and slipped into sleep, the disappointed hands reluctantly pulling away.

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"Yes, little one, say it."

"Lucius."

"Say it little one."

"Lucius."

"Yes, beautiful boy, say it."

"Lucius."

The rocking abruptly stopped as the weight shuddered against him. The warmth pulled away and the backside of his pajama bottoms didn't feel wet as they should have, but before he could worry that he had done something wrong the voice assured him everything was fine and to be a good boy and take his potion, which was salty against his tongue.

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He still could not open his eyes, but he began to remember, things before and beyond his silver-black-green cocoon of soft hands and heavy safety, but the voice soothed him, told him he was safe now, he was beautiful, and that soon the hands would find what they were looking for.

Harry smiled as he drifted to sleep.
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Spoils of War