Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space	By : SparklySprinkles Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Dudley/Harry Views: 10091 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Fictional story based on fictional characters. I own nothing of Harry Potter, and make no money.

Chapter List
- 1-chapter one
- 2-Chapter Two
- 3-Chapter Three
- 4-four
- 5-five
- 6-six
- 7-seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-nine
- 10-ten
- 11-eleven
- 12-twelve
- 13-thirteen
- 14-fourteen
- 15-fifteen
- 16-sixteen
- 17-seventeen
- 18-eighteen
- 19-nineteen
- 20-twenty
- 21-twenny one
- 22-twenny two
- 23-twenty three
- 24-twenty four
- 25-one more to go!
- 26-the end (26)
- 24
- 25
- 26
   He woke to her, sleeping next to him, and stayed still to absorb every detail of the moment. The peaceful delicate features, the hair, an absolute mess that did what it wanted. That had never been a thing of Lily, she had been master of her body, but this new Lily seemed to have given up on controlling as unfathomable as hair.
   She was as close to him as she could be without leaving her side of the bed. As though she'd measured it and knew the exact parameters, and was trying to be as close as possible to him and not to overheat him as he slept. Or she was trying to not seem as needy as she was. Either way it was charming as sprite eyes. How dependent she was, and seemed to be trying to hide it, or at least keep it under control.
   And he knew his sentiments for this thought were incredibly stupid, and more than irrational. But he didn't care. He would be happy for her dependence, would swallow it up, and possibly even encourage it where he could as he reshaped her. Absolutely intoxicating.
   Her legs splayed out lower down the bed, just crossing the boundaries, just barely riding them, and he sat up, just so the movement would wake her. It was time to get up anyways. Or it would be soon, and he was tired of waiting. She woke, and smiled for him. The kind that said she was happy he was there, that she hoped he would see to her needs, that she wanted him to. She was everything. He thought of making her beg him for it. Of telling her to wake him every morning with pleas to help her, and he was hard before he even touched her.
   The wake up he'd given her the night before was going a long way here, and she was just a little more forward. He sank in the indulgence, rewarded every one of her moves, her smiles, thinking of perhaps a day when she would hold nothing back and live for him in every way. It could be seen in the distance. Could be felt in the way her whole body moved for him, making every possible point of contact. His.

   He pretended to read the paper while he supplemented his diet at the table with them. They kept themselves busy after breakfast, Clumsy and Needy, and he could almost see how having two of them was useful that way. Almost. He was feeling oddly agreeable about more than one thing suddenly, and kept that as fenced in as he could until he could look at it better.
   He sent out his letters and still felt only resolve about it, about doing all of one job well, instead of precariously doing three while making it look like one, and stayed in his office until lunch, when he came back to them. They hushed for him, like they always did, and he made his face impassive. But he would take her back with him when it was over, and it sweetened everything on his plate, and made him actively sour his face to not smile there in front of them.
   After lunch Potter followed him, silent, and stood in his study, waiting to be told what to do. Snape stared at him, wondering what he was thinking. But it was obvious. And here, in this room, it made much more sense for him to own such a creature. He really was a monster. A Death Eater. And it especially made sense, when she was in his lap, to send all good information on, not pick and choose to his own discretion, but choose what the Dark Lord would want.
   Had his master known then, that he was giving Severus such a trap? No. They would have all been dead by then if the Dark Lord ever thought such thoughts. If he ever could have looked at Severus on his knees years ago, begging for a woman's life, and thought that perhaps he would lose reason over her.
   And this was a deadly trap. For the moment he had something he treasured, and of course her, yes, but anything, then he would want to keep it. Put up walls around it, and guard it from everything. And set up a fortress to ensure it was never within enemies' reaches. From Minerva to the Dark Lord and everything in between. So dangerous to want something, and then to get it, and he was in unfamiliar territory. He would need eventually a place to put her, so he might keep her. It had never slipped his mind that his master wanted this one.
   He removed the hood, and she looked up at him, hopeful. As she should be. He was feeling clement, or indulgent still from that morning. In a good mood? He smiled and she sighed softly, as though in relief, and smiled just a little up at him. Good to have her so unsure. It heated all his moving parts, to see this face look up at him, in hopes of him making her entire day. Allowing her to sit in his lap. He hardened and pulled her with him, already wanting her undressed.
   He sat and she followed, parted her legs to straddle him, ready and so eager. She reached between them, encouraged by everything, but still looking at him like she needed permission. He stilled his face like he was thinking about it, then nodded. She slipped out another small smile and grasped him through the robes, stroking with gratitude, and it fed him more. He lifted her robes over her head and revealed everything she had in one move. He'd never given her undergarments, and he had never had anything but approval for the foresight.
   She reached into his robes for him and released him from the confines, and was already trying to impale herself. He leaned back and watched, content to let her get herself off on him for now.
   And she was soaked. So hot and wet for him. Like she always should have been. Even here - no, especially in here. She leaned in close, pressing her head up against his, kissing his chest, clinging to his shoulders, using him, until she came, holding him and stilling. He allowed that, too. She would resume soon.
   And after a time she looked up and sucked at his neck, kissed under his ear, charming him beyond what he could handle, and he roamed her soft skin, mapped her slowly with just his fingertips. He didn't need to hurry, he could keep her.
   "Should - May I call you master in here?"
   His dick throbbed inside her, and he stared at her, wondering how much she was thinking about any of this. One never knew with other people, how much they thought. That she would change her words, let the first slip. His Slytherin brain worked too hard, and he was wondering if she was smart enough for this. Lily and been sharp about most things, but this wasn't her.
   "That would make you happy?"
   "I love you being my master," like perhaps she didn't understand how deeply those words would make him happy. Like she was making a confession, instead. He'd be a fool to trust it, if only because it sounded so good.
   "You may." She nodded, and her hips started to roll against his lap again. "Why?"
   "Because you take care of me." And she squeezed his cock with her inner muscles, like that was how he took care of her, while she flushed clear to her breasts, so her flesh grew even warmer in his hands. She kept moving, but her face was still down. And she wasn't done with her devious words. "Because you keep me safe, like maybe I matter." She leaned in under his ear, either to hide her eyes or to speak the words on his flesh, and it tickled as her lips moved. "You keep me safe." And she swallowed his cock again, "you don't let anyone hurt me because you own me. I love being owned by you." Snape could hardly think anymore. What was she trying to do to him? All while grinding her lovely soaking hot walls against his throbbing cock.
   But he couldn't trust it. Shouldn't, either, if he had any survival instincts left. "Look at the wall above my head."
   "Yes, Master," her eyes flashing their almost delight at an order and at her own response for him, if that was possible, with an almost smile, then they rose over him, to the newspaper that Nott had framed for him the day after Dumbledore's death. It stayed there, as everything else in this room, for when he had company. The perfect appearance.
   She frowned and he knew he hadn't won a point. He may have done something stupid, in fact. Her hips slowed to a stop and she looked back at him. Uncertain. She looked around the room again, and perhaps a fog was lifting. Perhaps sense would prevail, and he wouldn't have to wade through whatever mess she'd cluttered about for her mind to accept this, like Severus was her current Dudley Dursley. He'd never wanted that. She tried to lift herself, but he held her in place. "You're happy about all this?"
   "I don't know." Her hands planted on his chest and pushed. "Please."
   "Please, what?"
   "Nothing." She stilled herself and looked away, down at the floor. Swallowed and waited. For what, Severus didn't know. For him to be a better man? She would sit there for a long time if that was the case. "I don't care. It's all nothing, and I know I lost. Just," she choked and whispered, "just love me, please."
   "You? I don't. I love her."
   "I know!" This wasn't getting him anywhere. She was closing in on herself. He was. Potter was. Gods alive, that Potter would be her gate keeper. But he wasn't. Snape was the master here, just as she'd said. She'd stopped moving altogether, frozen in his hold. He leaned in and kissed the top of her head and she nodded, coming close to him, like she was ready to be Forgiveness in human form. Lily and the one thing she'd lacked, come together for him.
   "I'm sorry," he said, softly, knowing she would accept. Saying the words meant more, came easier, when one had that assurance. She nodded again, still keeping close to him huddled on his chest in his arms. He could have everything he ever wanted. Squinting was becoming less and less necessary. "Perhaps I don't altogether mind you, either." Potter kissed his chest, like he had received some high words of praise. Severus stroked the hair, and she started moving again, slowly, carefully. Always so careful. Better that way, though. Better than her taking every bit of power she could and reigning over him, because he didn't know if he would stand against it or not. Some tests were better avoided.
   Severus kissed the top of her head then turned her face up to get to her mouth until she was moving her face for him, receiving it almost eagerly again. "I'm sorry," he said again, feeling as much a rush for saying the words as for her swallowing them, and she was kissing him back. He had the evil thought that perhaps he could just hurt her over and over to feel that forgiveness every time. And soon she was moaning again and moving for her release, not just to be moving on him. It was like ... like someone sucking his cock with shaved ice in their mouth - that moment after the ice melts and the heat returns. He moved with her, until he was nearly driven to ride it out until he filled her.
   She was clutching to him, almost completely lost in her chase, and he pulled back as much as he could in the chair under her, trying to squeeze a little more out of this before he was spent. Tried to see as much of her swallowing him as he could, her breasts moving with the force, her stomach clenching as she moved, her slight look of concentration. Her little kisses that she spread over his chest, his shoulders, and his neck. Like she was worshipping him. "You like me being your master?" His voice was ragged. He breathed deep to control it.
   "Uh huh." She was frowning over her own aim, and breathless herself. "Do you ... do you like being my master?" She was grinding against him, steady and determined in a way that said she was close, face pressed to his skin as everything else moved.
   "Perhaps." He couldn't even suppress a smile that time. He stumbled over his own self sabotaging stupidity, his brand new addiction. "I suppose I do have to admit that after every failed attempt at such, I like that you've finally succeeded at finding a use."
   "Oh god." The body lurched to another stop and his cock agonized inside her over the stilling. Severus pulled her head back to watch her face, making himself freeze with her, with her pain, so he could warm with her this time. She was avoiding his eyes. Trying to keep her face still, as though she might be onto the new game. She didn't try to get off him, just sat there, helpless and frozen. He reached out and stroked her arms, her face.
   "I'm sorry." She nodded, but kept her eyes down. He pulled her face to his, and said it again, "I'm sorry," and kissed her allover. She breathed hotly on his face, still catching her breath, unsure, watching him warily. That had to be the last one. She was taking longer, this time. Thinking. He moved his hands to her hips and guided her back into motion, and she kissed him back, moving and holding him, clinging to his shoulders.
   "I should not have said that, I'm sorry." She looked at him finally, bewildered. She was not in fact, onto the game as he'd thought. Just as well, she would play better this way. "Please, forgive me. I would never want to hurt you. I'll try better in the future not to." Hope crept into her eyes, like a naive fool, and some warmth crept in to cradle his prick, his everything. She was accepting this one. He kissed her face allover, until she was nuzzling into it all, nodding for more.
   He pulled her in tight, taking over, thrusting up into her as she held on, until he finally heard some sounds from her again. He slowed a little then, holding just as tight, and went back to kissing her beautiful face, her neck. "I need you." She closed her eyes. "I need to be mean to you to balance how much I care for you, but I'll try to be more careful." She nodded, again, like a fool, accepting that as well. Like it made sense to her. For one building structures, these words of his were brick and mortar. And she warmed more, moving with him again, kissing back with eyes a little brighter. His blood pounded with the rush as he lost himself in the heat that flooded her for him.
   Time to pull out his last weapon. "And what if-"
   "Oh god, please!" She clenched everything as she waited for another blow, like she was onto the tone he used.
   "- I were to call you a filthy mudblood."
   Her body was tense, and she looked up a little, frowning. This was it. She would pick it up, she would know. "A ..."
   "A mudblood."
   She shook her head and frowned. "I don't think I would care about that one, really." She looked up at him, still thinking. "Unless." She leaned in to his ear and said low, "Is that what you want?" Licked his ear and began to swallow his cock again, "You want me to be your filthy mudblood?" Well. She'd missed the point entirely. "You want to take your dirty little mudblood into your evil office and fuck her?"
   Those words in her mouth. She hadn't reacted right, had taken a left turn there, but he would take it. And he was at the tipping point. "Perhaps." All he could do was sit there, powerless as she moved on him, milked yet another soul wrenching orgasm from him that just affirmed every decision he'd ever made. Then she stilled, and stayed quiet. His sight returned after a time, and he looked down at her mop of hair splayed over his chest. He stroked it, enquiringly, though she couldn't know his purposes with her face hidden.
   After a time she asked, face still hidden in him, voice muffled by his flesh and her hair, "may I go?"
   "Look at me."
   She looked up, and all he saw was turmoil. He grazed her, lightly. She felt it, and tried to pull away, tried to put up a wall, but she was too torn to organize any defense. And it wasn't in words. Minds didn't work that way. It was images. Himself beneath her, and it flickered to that disgusting muggle, Dursley, beneath her. Him. Beneath him. How could he try to penetrate a mind if he didn't even know who was sitting on his exhausted cock?
   "You think we're the same?"
   Potter shook his head, and squinted as though that might stop it.
   "You think I have anything in common with Vernon Dursley?"
   "I don't. Please, may I go?"
   "Go." And he was mostly relieved she didn't answer it. Didn't give him some list of similarities of which he may have been unaware.
   He came to her that night, but she stayed where she was. Well on her side of the bed, with her eyes closed. And it wasn't as though he would want her crowding him, but that little move she normally did, where she moved as close as she could without touching him? He'd quickly learned to live for it, as though he was the one being trained here. He almost ground his teeth over it, but she would have her needs in the morning, and he could see to those for her then. He could wait.
   But when she woke after sunrise, she rose and left the room, silently, quickly. He couldn't see any of what he'd done to be anything like what Dursley had done, and he'd seen it all. Dursley had never called him a mudblood, nor given him a wand. Had starved him to the threshold of death and kept him in a closet that required portkeys to access. And now Potter felt he had some right to withhold Lily from him. Again, Potter was standing between him and Lily.
   He growled as he got up, then followed her into the bathroom and undressed as she stared at him under the water. He stepped into the stream and picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around him, closing him in. He entered her and she groaned, even moved herself so she would get more of him inside.
   He licked at her breast; it was leaking on its own in the water, and it just quickened in his grip. He bathed his tongue in it and brought his mouth to hers, and she opened her mouth for him. Sucked on whatever he gave her, as she rolled her hips on his. But she wasn't meeting his eyes. Working her body against his thrusts and making all her sweet sounds, clutching at him, melting just as she had before, with her gaze down.
   "Look at me." She sobbed as her eyes raised to his. Was she crying? "How are we alike, that you're thinking these things?"
   "I don't know!"
   "Say it."
   She moaned it out, too sad for proper breath filled words, they were empty and hardly made a sound, "I'm just ... something you fit into." She was crying. And had been for a time, here under the water. The words had some higher significance for her, and he could hear the resonance she threw into them.
   He stopped moving. He'd hurt his Lily again. And perhaps too far. Again. The only thing to do was pull out, like a physical denial of what she'd said. His dick protested as he stroked her, not knowing what to say. This wasn't his strong suit.
   "That's not true." And why would he argue the point, when it was solid? But she was more than that. She was his entire downfall. The reason he did anything.
   "It is. And that's really what I am. I know that, I really do. But just, just sometimes it hurts. I'm sorry." But had she answered the question? He had to think back.
   "Perhaps we should continue this later."
   She nodded. "I'm sorry. I'll be better tomorrow."
   "See that you are." She nodded again. He left her, and went down stairs after retrieving his robes from the floor and spelling himself dry. He had no idea what to do for her. Him. For Potter. He'd crossed some line, and now he had to do some work to get his Lily back. Tomorrow. Should he just wait it out? Seemed like almost an option. He'd said he would be better tomorrow, he had to know that. This could be one of those things he'd been through before, and knew when it would end. What did Severus know about such things?
   Which meant he had to do his work without her there today. But perhaps he'd get more done. Whether she was there or not, she was a distraction for him. But if she was there, his dick could stay warm. And that strengthened what she'd said. But she'd also said that it was what she was, now. And that was true, too. Snape owned her, for these very purposes. How was he supposed to not .... use her in such a way? Fit into her? Indeed, she would suffer if he didn't. But he was missing the point, cherry picking to get where he wanted. He knew that much. What had he done to remind ... him, not of Young Dursley, or Rabastan, or even the Dark Lord, but of Vernon Dursley? It was unfair. That's what it was.
   As soon as he saw that he was able to set it aside. Such things happened in life. And perhaps Potter had been infected with the irrational, emotional mind of a woman. There were times when the rhyme and reason just weren't there, this was a fact every man knew, was told in conspiratorial whispers by their fathers or wiser older friends, so they would know to manage their expectations. "The mind of a woman," they would say. And then hands would raise in helplessness, as though to say what're you gonna go?
   And Lily herself, the real one, had refused logic and reason many times. Too much to hope her mind would be in there. Too much to even think it. That was his trap. He was falling into it too easily.
   She came down for breakfast and ate quietly, asked if she could assist Longbottom in the kitchen after, and Snape nodded. Then he retreated for his study. He couldn't fix this. There wasn't some manual.
   But there was, he thought with a dry almost-laugh, as he closed the door. Of course there was. There were several, and from his recent researches he had a few on hand.
   He wasn't exactly expecting help, more using them as a focus point as he read through some of it. And had he been a man of less experiences in his life they would have chilled his blood. Command It to be happy. Command it to forget what's upsetting it. That paused him, stopped everything to fit this concept in place. Could Potter - or anyone bound by an obedience curse - be ordered to forget something, and then forget it? He wanted to test that. Not for any real purposes, - though a few came to mind unasked - but just to see if it was true. And then perhaps command him to remember and see if he could regain it. He would try that, on a more receptive day. Just for academic purposes. Time release knowledge.
   But objectively speaking, one's mind ought to be their own.
   He left that thought for when he could do something about it. It was possible that there would be no playing with his prize today.
   And he went back to the questionable manuals. As almost a last resort, do nice things for it. Yes. That was possible. And it would go a long way with that one. He knew that. Knew Potter had too much in common with himself. It had been one of the more infuriating things he'd gotten from the failed occlumency lessons with the boy, back in Hogwarts. The similarities. How Potter's own James Potter had been the very boy who'd come out of this mess as Potter's hero, Dudley Dursley. Life was a funny thing. Like James Potter being the one Severus had tricked his mind into worshipping. But his mind was of sterner stuff, of course.
   And more evidence from how the boy had practically sworn life and soul to Albus for a little approval. Severus had fallen into an almost identical trap laid by Riddle a few years before. It was the fourth oldest trick in the book. Starved children make the best pets. So. What would make Potter happy?
   The wand had. That had been obvious, though the boy had tried to hide it. So, maybe take it away and give it back? But that would eat time. And he was falling into the dizzying rut of crash and high. But wasn't that where he wanted her? It was. He was addicted to that, and he wanted it over and over. Perhaps the forgetfulness would come in handy with that. Reset her every evening. That ... made perfect sense, and he was trying to convince himself not to after a few more moments.
   Time outside? A warped thought of taking her to her childhood home, though it wasn't the same, of course. Empty now, as its occupants had died in June, and furnished differently. Some boy had been in her room in the time that had passed, and it wasn't a teenage girl's room as he'd remembered, as he'd preserved in his mind. And like the ghoul he was, he'd kept up on the changes made to it through the years, of course. And then there would be the lack of recognition on her face, and he wouldn't enjoy that bit of reality. No. Not her home. But he could take her outside. She may enjoy that. It was a fact though, that they simply had no common interests. Never had. Quidditch was depressingly pointless, as was saving the world.
   He reached an unavoidable resolution there, and came to them, a few hours before dinner. They were sitting at the table with fresh cups of tea. A charming little domestic scene.
   He loomed over them both, and they turned, falling quiet. Waiting. "Perform a lumos spell with your wand, Potter."
   "Lumos," the light errupted from his wand, and the boy bounced with it. So happy over such a small thing. Severus almost changed course and had to steer himself steady.
   "Now, forget how to perform that spell."
   Potter said nothing, but shrank back a little, catching on. Longbottom made a sound from his seat, and his spoon hit a note against the cup mid stir.
   "Now, make a light on the end of your wand, if you can."
   He looked at his wand and shook his head. Longbottom jumped up from his chair, and backed up. Potter turned to look at him, pale slender hand holding the wand shaking. "It ... it doesn't matter, Neville." Even her voice shook.
   "You're joking! Of course it matters! Don't you understand?"
   "Of course I do."
   "And how many times do you think he's done this already?"
   "I think," he looked back at Severus' feet. "I think this is the first time. He's a little surprised about it." Severus needed to remember that this person had some abilities in that area. He may have forgotten, but Potter had something almost like occlumency at his disposal with him. "But it still doesn't matter. Nothing does." He looked back at Longbottom. "He could do whatever, whenever. This is just more of that. And it could be worse."
   "Worse? Than ... than selective obliviating?" He shook, looked down at his hand as the spoon fell out of it, and laughed harshly. "Of course," he muttered, bitterly.
   "Yeah, worse." Potter nodded, even as he stopped talking, like he didn't want to give Severus any more ideas. Like he was torturing them for fun. But wasn't he? Yes, he was. Not this, directly, but the short answer was yes.
   "I would like to see you in my study." Potter tore his own gaze away from the spoon on the floor to him. Snape very much didn't smile. He'd cracked the code. And what Potter thought was worse than memory control, Severus could imagine. There had been a few memories in there that had jagged edges, frayed frenetic energies attached, and Severus had a good idea.
   And he wouldn't, but he could always command Potter to enjoy it. But that just wasn't necessary. Potter had skipped that with him, had gotten right to rutting against him, drinking him up greedily and grasping for more from the first night that the bond had been completed. Charming, intoxicating, and something that Severus had quickly, far too quickly grown dependent on. So much more than mere enjoyment on Potter's side. A heat and a need that said everything a body should say to its master. Him. Potter's body sang to him and cried out for him when he was worshipping and claiming it. He wanted that back, and now he knew how to get it.
   Potter entered the room and stood in place, not moving. Severus came up and removed the mask. She was looking anywhere but at him. No. She was looking at the newspaper behind his chair, across the room. It was originally put there, behind his chair, so he would never have to look at it accidentally, but there was no way for the boy to know that. Severus' mind was clouding again, and anger was coming up. That newspaper was a complicated thing. Perhaps for the both of them.
   "Tell me what you are thinking."
   "Well, now I'm thinking it can't be right for you to order such a thing." Her eyes flew up to his, and just as quickly down again, to the wall behind him, across the room. "But it doesn't matter, just like everything else. But. Just before that I was thinking that if Dumbledore had seen this coming he might have killed me before it could happen. Out of mercy. That I would be better off dead. I thought it many times at my family's home."
   Likewise.
   It seemed many times that the old man had some seer blood, but Dumbledore could never have foreseen this as Severus' own future, or surely he would have intervened, as Potter said. Would have spared either of them, in his limited, mortal wisdom.
   "You're half right, for all the wrong reasons. The headmaster worshipped death, and fed everyone he could to his false god. And now there is only us." The boy with a goddess' face frowned up at him, disregarding the words before he could even hear them. He looked away again, and waited. Severus wanted to scream it, but soft words always go further. "Did it never occur to you," and how long had it taken for him to realize? Too long. "That I was designed to hear that prophesy?"
   She still didn't look at him, or respond. "You think Dumbledore did anything by accident? Or didn't know I was there the whole time? Of course he did. Of course he intended everything that followed. He was in the middle of a war."
   He'd once seen the headmaster stop in the grass, point his wand at a fairly unthreatening rock, and shout, like he was vanquishing a dragon, "diffindo!" Severus had chalked that up to Gryffindor silliness, and then, months later, had been walking with Professor Sinistra, and she'd tripped and fallen, her head landing in exactly that same spot. Of course, it had taken him hours to recall, and connect the two. He'd even used a pensieve to compare the precision, and it was infallible. And then after that, it had taken him years - to suspect. To wonder at how or why he would be the one to see both actions. To what purpose? Obviously to the end of having him believe in some mysterious omnipotence. Seeing the signs of madness and believing, regardless, in a grand plan of unfathomable depths. Worse that it had worked for so long.
   "Not just foresaw, nor planned, but orchestrated your parents' deaths. Whether he knew it would destroy the Dark Lord then, or later after giving you unintended powers, I do not know, still, but yes, he knew what would happen after, and he made it happen." Potter frowned, and shook his head. "And so you will say that it was still my fault, or the Dark Lord's."
   "Yes." Points for honesty.
   "And I will accept that, of course. We can only make our own decisions, but Dumbledore made his, as well, with far more knowledge about the costs than I. He always intended for your parents to die. And he always intended for you to die." And for Severus, and Albus himself. All lives into the fire. "And you put all your faith in that."
   "And it doesn't matter." He sounded so tired. "You're going to command me to forget, right? I wish you would already."
   He stepped forward, and grasped him by the throat and backed him to the door behind. "I beg you not to try and anger me."
   "I wasn't." A whisper, eyes down, stubbornly hiding. "I couldn't."
   Right. He'd already commanded her from doing that. She wasn't trying to piss him off. He told himself that and tried to ease his grip. She wasn't even trying to get away.
   His mind fractured, for the first time in days. He wanted to kiss her, melt her with words of his undying love. That would do it. And he wanted to feed him memories, of truths that had brought them both here. He wanted to scream at him, I needed to keep you alive and let him know that this current situation had never been his intent. The boy must know that much, on at least some level. And he wanted to command her to forget every time he ever hurt her, which was why he'd brought her in here in the first place. And then hurt her all over again, and do it again tomorrow.
   He recognized this as his own personal thought pattern, one that always decided he should lose, or settle for the meanest fraction of what he wanted, and he set it a little further from his self, so he could examine it all again. And he put those all in order, and knew he could have every one.
   Only a fool would see it otherwise, and deny himself, and he hoped he was past being that fool, but truthfully, he was still new to it. New to seeing how deeply he had been trained to deny himself everything, to walk into Dumbledore's raging inferno of death, follow the Dark Lord's path of self denial in service as well. Either one of them would have withheld his Lily for ever, and both of them had worked together to do it.
   He let go of her lovely throat, keeping his hand there, but no longer a threat. Just a reminder. No, an instrument to touch her. That was all. He leaned down, moving in with his mouth and she responded, but only because she knew she should. He knew that; he could taste the difference. "I need you," he said, passing the words past her lips. She closed her eyes, but kept her face turned up to him, taking his words eagerly. "I need you to love me. I love you so much, more than anything. More than a man should love someone." That was true, unfortunately. And then she was panting, and he could see her clinging to these sounds he was uttering. "I need you to live." She sighed, lightly against his mouth, and her little hands were clinging to his robes suddenly. "Please, just love me." The words this one had thrown up at him, like arms flung up in a last defence of her life. She moaned and pressed her mouth to his, truly responding, warming, her arms came up to wrap around his neck, and she was coming at him with hunger now. Her own, greedy need for love, that drove her to crazy lengths of insanity. Unreasonable, illogical lengths - like welcoming Severus Snape inside her.
   He thought of the de-aging potion, but disregarded that. He needed to not interrupt her process that was building, working for him. A potion or a command to drink it would do that. It occurred to him, and he said it. "If all you were was something I could use to be inside, then I would just command this of you every time, and think no more of it. But you responded to me with your warmth and acceptance from the beginning." She nodded quickly beneath his lips, and kissed his chin. "How could I want anything less, after that? And that's not her, it's you." She flinched from that, opening her eyes and looking around, looking a little scared. Nervous? "You're everything to me. And I love you both." She flinched again. Was he doing it wrong? He forged on, since she went on responding. Perhaps he should have tried this in the bedroom. Tenderness for her came much more readily there for some reason. Here, he wanted more to dominate her, and eat up her apologies that came twenty years too late.
   He peeled her robes off and picked her up, turned around and walked her to his desk. He lifted her onto it and she opened her legs for him, but was she simply going along? It was hard to tell at the moment. He held her face and licked into her mouth, moaning softly for her, letting her hear his needs, stroking her legs as he freed himself. He entered her slowly, wishing instantly he'd spent a little more time there. She was a little dry. But that was his fault. He shouldn't have been so rough with her before. But he would fix that before she fell asleep that night with a simple command.
   He filled her and planted his hands by her face, eating her kisses as she fed him, still eager from his words, and he pressed her further onto the desk with every move. His eagerness had to be giving him away, and he had to remind himself that he wanted that this one time.
   He pushed on, raising himself over her more with every thrust, until he had his knees up on the desk as well, moved over her, in her, almost losing himself in thrusting into her form. She grew into it, juices flowed, and hands coming up to touch him in halting movements. She didn't trust him, and he realized there that until the day before, she truly had. Foolish creature. He smiled, full of inspiration, and licked at her face, licked his way to her ear. "I love you, Harry."
   "Oh god." Her legs curled in, tightening around him, and he drank it in, lost his momentum inside her. She would wring him out like this. Her hands clutched his neck and shoulder, nails dug in and she was working her lovely soft body against him, little movements that went on as he tried to slow. Little moans passed her lips to his neck, as she held on tight to keep him there. "Love you." And she moaned, pressing upwards with most of her body, spasming around his cock, losing herself for half a moment.
   Her eyes opened in the other half as she was still squeezing him, still tensed from head to toes, fear in her eyes. But he moved himself through it, giving a few weak thrusts that brought him to completion on the heels of hers, and he followed through with some kisses down her face to her neck and back up to her mouth. She wasn't giving back this time. She was terrified.
   "You don't mean it," she whispered, shaking. "I really wish you wouldn't say that."
   "Why? Because you want to hear it?" He couldn't keep the pleasure from his voice over this, mastering her again.
   She nodded, sadly. Her face crumpled as she started crying. Her legs fell away from his thighs, but he stayed inside, not really knowing why, more on instinct, probably. Kissing her through her tears. Her pain. He needed to stop savouring that. It was getting him nowhere with her. She moved to cover her face, and he moved his arms to block hers, framing her face with no way for her to reach it, and she turned away from him. But she kept crying for him, and he kept licking at her, kissing her. Eventually she slowed and then stilled but for the odd little stuttering breath.
   Then he pulled her face to his and kissed her some more. She looked up at him, frowning, but moving her lips. He used the direct eye contact and crept in, just a little. She didn't believe him. He. He didn't believe him. He strongly suspected this was a method of torture, or a punishment. Well. How wrong was he on both counts?
   "Forget every time I ever hurt you." She moaned, and it all flew away from her. He could see the weight lifted from her. Not all weights, of course. She had a list. But some of them. Many where he was concerned.
   She smiled, slow, weak, with her puffy red face. "Thank you."
   Well. What was he supposed to say to that? He didn't know.
   He lifted himself off her and said, "go," and she almost ran from the room.
   He sat back in his chair and stared at the map. He needed to digest this. Or something far more important. But he'd recently realigned his priorities, and she was at the top. That stopped a few things.
   His paper work, and he was fooling no one here, but his paper work was a larger stack. He had a lot more to process today. The results of yesterday's resolutions. He passed over pages, scanned them without even reading them, all he could think of was later that night, when he would be between her legs again. He was turning stupid over her. And he could see it. That did nothing to stop it from happening.
   He was one of those fools one reads of, or has to tolerate in day to day life sometimes. And how had he become one of those? But it felt amazing to be one of those. To have entered an exclusive fraternity of wrongly dealt with fools who had turned stupid over matters of the heart. He felt privileged in his sufferings. Initiated. Perhaps this moment, he was finally a man. Finally carrying a burden for which he'd envied and scorned others for a long time. Every snide comment he'd ever bit back in the presence of such fools melted away retroactively.
   Women, he thought to himself, self indulgent and self deprecating and smug and almost tentative, like a child swearing for the first time, indeed, just like a first timer, and he supposed he was. But it felt amazing. To have "lady troubles". The Little Woman was giving him the gears.
   He laughed aloud at his insanity, and tried like hell to read at least one report before dinner. He failed. Minerva had been sighted at Yaxley's. Miss Weasley, Mrs. Yaxley she would be once she conceived for him, had done the right thing, and told her master about it right away, but everyone was to ramp up security against the former professor. So hard to read it though, to pay attention. If she came around here she wouldn't stand a chance against him, wasn't even close to a threat. Not like Potter's own common sense, if it ever decided to make an appearance. He stared at the map, where he'd just had her whole body. He couldn't see past the barrier of a surface that had held her up for him.
   He interrupted a hushed urgent sounding conversation as he entered the dining room, and studied Longbottom quietly. What had he been saying to her? Poisoning her against him? He would have a hard time of it. Severus had seen in the mind, and she had fortresses built up against attacks, moats of illogic to swallow facts. Severus should have been shocked at his confidence in her. So, he was a man of faith. How quickly he was completely someone else. Unrecognizable, almost, to himself.
   Longbottom glared at him, open hostility, hands empty, and Severus spared a moment to absorb that. Quite the step. But smugness won over, and he sat at the table in his glorious victory over them both.
   And it occurred to him that he'd never commanded her to not poison him while preparing food. He should have done that early on. As soon as she'd begged to be allowed in the kitchen, in fact. What was happening to him? Complacency, he warned himself again, was a downfall, a sure path to early death. And he really really didn't want that.
   "Tell me if you've done anything of which I would disapprove."
   They both paused in their ways to the chairs.
   She looked at Longbottom, who said, "yeah, I told him how much of a lousy git you are, using mind erasing on us whenever you want." She looked back at him quickly.
   "Mm. Tell me if you did anything to the food or drinks that I would disapprove of."
   "We didn't."
   "I will allow you to speak freely when I am not here."
   "That's very generous of you," the boy sneered at him, and Severus repressed a smirk. He bore him no ill will, and seeing some life was not the worst thing in the world. Perhaps it would even do something in her eyes if he tolerated it in front of her, in fact. And it seemed to. She was thinking, his lovely thing.
   He waited in any case for them both to eat, to calm his suspicion, but Longbottom wasn't. He was just sitting there, staring at his plate. She was eating. Severus waited, and nothing happened. Longbottom seemed to be studying his fork on the table untouched. After a time she stopped as well, following Severus' gaze to Clumsy across the table. And she made a beautiful little sound of distress.
   She got up and went to the kitchen, came back with a knife fork and spoon, then reached out and took his plate and cut everything for him. She passed it back, with the fresh spoon. Longbottom stared at her, horrified, then picked up the utensil, and was more horrified. What was this?
   The boy ate then, slowly, and Severus frowned at them both. "Tell me if you've done anything suspicious to the silverware." They both shook their heads, but he wasn't risking this. He'd commanded them to tell him if they'd done anything to the food, the utensils; his wording had been solid. Just as well he wasn't overly hungry. He would feed himself later, when they weren't there to watch.
   He went to bed with her, at the same time, and sat her down. Ordered her to never poison him, never try to poison him, never think about it, and some tension left him for it as she nodded quickly. Oversights.
   Then he sat before her and pulled forward all the thoughts he wanted. He had organised it all. And he had Albus' pensieve, but it would be quicker his way, and much more controlled.
   He ordered her to look in his eyes, and it was Potter. Severus gripped him, pulled him out, and into his own mind, where he pulled out selected bits. He didn't need the boy running about wildly here, and there was no way he would be able. Severus was controlling this.
   Just a few selective bits, for perhaps a night of clarity. Honestly he didn't really know why he was doing this. Not if he was being harsh on himself and his reasoning. There was no way he could allow Potter to keep these beyond one evening. He started with his conversations with Albus, about Harry needing to die, and Albus needing to die, and Severus' special role in both of those. Personal grim reaper for a foolish old man with his annihilistic religion.
   The old man's plot to have Severus die over the Elder wand. He had to piece it together for the boy, lay out the facts first about the nature of the wand, and how Albus needed every step followed so it would only end one way if the Dark Lord every tried to harm Potter, and he would see it then. Albus truly planned for no survivors. He wouldn't have been surprised if Minerva had her own instructions to fall on a blade before this was over.
   To seal it, he displayed for Potter every time he'd saved his life, and it was a list. Then the doe Patronus he'd sent with the sword, so Potter would understand what that had been, and what Severus' role had been for so long. He wanted him to know that, even if just for an evening.
   The boy was shocked, of course. Trying to pull away from this. Trying to make it make sense even though it was put together tightly and obviously already for him. Severus showed him his conversation with the Dark Lord, where he'd been trying to simply keep him alive for a little longer. Until the "appointed time." Fools, all of them. And how long had he been forced to suffer them all? Nearly his whole life. In fact, his whole life had been given to these fools.
   He'd been trained from a young age, to allow himself to be placed on the board, moved with precision to the best square for others' games and benefits, and keep his mouth shut about it. Just like Potter. And the similarity wasn't lost, he hoped. Just this once, he wouldn't rage at the boy if he were to say, boy, we sure got shafted by everyone, didn't we? And Severus, would just this once, nod and say, absolutely everyone and everything. And never again fall for the need to commiserate with anyone, ever. But once, it would have been nice. Potter didn't. He absorbed it against his will, fighting every step if the way. And Severus started to understand here, tasting the rejection so very close to first hand, here in his own head, that perhaps he was courting the wrong one of them, right then. Potter didn't want any of this. Potter didn't want to exist. He wanted very much to be Lily. Although he couldn't possibly have placed a name to her.
   He released the boy and sat, waiting. "Well?"
   "I - it doesn't matter! It's over."
   "Is that all?"
   He paused to think. And picked it up slowly. Nodded. "I see it. But it really doesn't matter."
   "That I may have been trying to be decent at times? May have had better motives than you thought?"
   "No." He blinked at that. He'd hoped for a different response, honestly. "It doesn't matter. If you love me - I'm sorry. I shouldn't say that, I know. And I know just what sort of person that makes, me," and he looked away then, breathing in deeply, "what kind of ... whore that makes me." He should not be calling himself that. Not when he was his. "But I don't care anymore. If you ... and you said it. But is it true?" She looked down, and Severus fell into the dizzy depths again, that it was her. Not him. "You said it, so maybe it's true, maybe it's not. But I'm probably allowed to believe it is." Like that made all the difference in the world. Madness. "So you said you loved me. And you said," she paused, but yes, he'd said a great many things earlier that day. None of which he would take away from her right then. Perhaps tomorrow, in his office, in his lap. "You said-"
   "I said that I needed you." She nodded, eagerly. He smiled, soaking that up. She needed his words. Delightful little thing. "I said that I loved you," and he didn't care anymore, either. He'd come at her this night with different intentions, but she was making the choices now. "And I begged you to love me." She frowned, nodding still. He pulled her in, and she was on him, grabbing at everything he might be willing to give her. He would need to command her to forget all this, of course. But right then, he was too busy trying to get inside her. And she was tripping over herself to help him. How was a man supposed to think through all that?
   Women.

A/N Really hoping to have the final chapter out by Wednesday.
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I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space