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Snape's Curse	By : JanisJ Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 24316 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything having to do with Harry Potter fandom, JKR's characters or the books and movies of the series. This is purely fiction and I make NO money from writing this story.

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Occlumency’s Curse (part 1)

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A/N: Thanks for all the reviews; I love each and every one of them!!!! Your thoughts and words make me so happy and I’m tickled that you took the time to write. :)

Yeah, as for ‘Snape’s Curse’—some of you may have gotten a ‘talk’, but in my public schooling, we were 11-12, in 6^th grade when we got puberty instruction although it was just about the changing of our own bodies and gender specific…. Boys and girls were separated into different rooms for whatever information was imparted. There was nothing described about reproduction. I still think it’s fun for the repressed Dursleys to NOT have explained a damn thing before the Hogwarts years….In their eyes, ‘Duddikins’ will always be a ‘wittle baby’ and of course they wouldn’t care to explain anything to Harry, he was just best staying out of their way—and in the closet/cupboard.

That said, this story bounces around a bit since it was only supposed to be a one-shot-- but somehow, the plot bunny took on a life of its own, hops back and forth, and won’t let me be! And I felt a bunch of love from those who chose to review, so I dedicate this chapter to “Kohrin”(who did the awesome series titled “Snape’s Skivvies”—taking my ideas into account, running with them and making my wildest dreams come true).

This is kind of a follow-up/check-in/ sequel-but not…. I’m not sure if it’s just another chapter, but it’s something that happened in that particular universe a couple years later….

~~~~

“Ah, Headmaster! No!” the normally unflappable professor exclaimed in dismay before he could stop the atypical display of emotion. He quickly schooled his features into the stern scowl he always wore and silently berated himself for breaking his cool exterior. He whispered a terse “Tergeo” under his breath, siphoning off the spilled tea on his robes.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled maddeningly behind his half-moon spectacles, tickled by the unusual outburst from the man seated before him. “Back to formalities then, Severus?” he chuckled and teased, “Now I know you’re really upset.”

“Whatever gave you the daft idea that I wouldn’t be, Headmaster?” the dour man seethed in a low growl, determined to mask his turmoil under a deceptively calm response to cover his previous slip. “This IS the Potter whelp we are talking about. We simply do not get along—We mix as well as starfish oil and gillywater. The level of trust required in an endeavor such as this is non-existent.”

Albus smiled calculatingly and Severus was afraid that all the arguments he could make had already been thought of and refuted in the scheming man’s head beforehand. But he had to try. “Potter junior is incompetent to master these intricate skills; he is a mere child, incapable of any more than the most basic of spells. He repeatedly submits sub-standard work at best. I have no doubt this is a lesson in futility.”

“Not so much a child anymore, I think, and he is nothing like his father,” Dumbledore chided softly. “Harry’s witnessed and done things most grown and seasoned wizards could never hope to survive or accomplish….” Severus inwardly cringed, it was true—how on earth did a fourth year duel and escape the second coming of the Dark Lord? He’d rather cut off his right hand than admit he was impressed with that…. He decided to take a different tack.

“Surely you would be a much more suitable candidate to teach the insufferable brat? After all, you are a living legend….” There. It was irrefutable evidence that the barmy Headmaster himself couldn’t counter. And a bit of flattery couldn’t hurt. “Your genius--” he started, but was cut off.

“Harry is fifteen now, and far more advanced for his years.” Albus steepled his index fingers under his chin and surveyed his employee and friend with astute precision. “Severus, I may excel at subtle Legilimency, but you know as well as I that your skill at Occlumency shields is vastly superior to my own.” Then his voice became gentle and full of fondness, “Otherwise, I’d never consent to your role as a spy in the enemy camp….”

“Sir….” Severus was floundering, not trusting the man’s motive. He didn’t like where this was going; the mention of his double agent position was always a volatile subject, fraught with history and guilt and debts.

“Severus,” the old wizard sighed tiredly, for once showing his age, his wrinkled face crumpling. “I don’t do this to torture you, or make the request lightly. The simple fact is that there is a connection between Tom’s mind and Harry’s and he would use it to get information that I hold on the workings of The Order of the Phoenix. You have the capacity to hide things that I never could—and the ability to impart what it is that you have learned.”

The aging wizard let his whole demeanor show his conviction as he leaned forward. “You are the only one who could successfully unravel the mysterious bond and make sure to lock it up tight. You alone stand in a position with the opportunity to deflect Voldemort’s attention away from such a realization,” he revealed. “I could never hope to teach the lad all you know how to do; you possess much more magic than me in that area.”

Did the old man know exactly how showing vulnerability like this would unnerve the Potions Master?   Probably. But it didn’t make his claims any less valid.

Severus knew his own brain was the most highly structured and controlled that he’d ever heard, seen or read of. The creativeness he’d invented on how to weave deceptions, to make it look like he was completely open to a Legilimens inspection but actually hiding vital memories, manufacturing fabrications or half-truths to his liking, or only showing emotions or images of what benefited him best in any given situation far out-stripped anyone else’s attempts.

Yes, he was an expert. He just didn’t like the fact that he’d have to spend hours with the object of his obsession, getting inside Potter’s head with the possibility-- a far-ranging fluke to be sure, but a possibility none-the-less-- of the boy tapping into his private interior space and carefully guarded truths.

“Albus,” he appealed, hoping the years of friendship would count for something, (and didn’t sound as if he were whining). “You taught me….”

The twinkle in the watery blue eyes was back as Dumbledore regarded the agitated man he thought of as a son. “Yes indeed. And the student surpasses the teacher.” He smiled then, the pride he beamed threw the confidence of the professor determined to remain hard and impassive. Severus was once again reminded that he could deny this man nothing. If not for him…. Well, he shuddered to think what he would have become without the forgiveness and benevolence of his mentor. NO ONE had ever looked upon Severus Snape with such love and affection, not even his own mother. He knew his protests were a lost cause—he had no choice. He would do anything this man asked of him.

“Albus,” he hung his head in resignation. No matter the hardship to him, he would complete this new penance. “Don’t expect miracles that the hopeless little Gryffindor will learn. I can only do so much as a mere mortal brewing with inferior quality ingredients….”

Dumbledore grinned at his Potion Master’s metaphor and tacit relenting to the task; relief flooded his features, feeling his battle won rather easily, but decided to clinch it anyway. “Lily would be eternally grateful for your effort and sacrifice.” (Severus gave an all too familiar wince at those carefully crafted words.) “I’m sure she couldn’t think of anyone better to teach her only child.”

Severus wished he could have called the Headmaster out for his blatant meddling and manipulation, but the sad truth of it was he wanted to do whatever pleased the old coot. And if he was honest with himself, he was intrigued by the prospect of spending more private time with Junior. (OK, he could admit in the dark recesses of his soul that being allowed the opportunity to root around and delve into Potter’s head was exciting—he couldn’t wait to plunder in, learning his weaknesses and life story, taking in his ultimately most excruciating of personal experiences…. And to simply know more about whom The-Boy-Who-Lived really was.)

He slumped his shoulders in resigned acquiescence, careful to not show any outward appearance of eagerness. It just wouldn’t do for the old man to catch wind of his interest; Dumbledore was entirely too happy by Severus’ reluctant acceptance as it was. By the time Albus dismissed him for the evening, (positively sparkling with glee and barely suppressed gloating) Severus sensed that unsettling, elusive feeling again that Albus was withholding a happy secret. He shook his head to rid himself of the ominous, creeping feeling that gave him, thanked him for the tea and bade his mentor goodnight.

Watching his protégé descend the staircase in resolute determination, the old wizard looked like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.

****

After putting off the inevitable as long as possible, Severus grimly made his way to The Order’s headquarters the last night of the winter holiday break. The Potion Master spared a gruff greeting with the Weasley matriarch, quelling her dinner invitation with a sour look and sent her off to fetch Potter. Black sauntered in after she bustled upstairs, leaving the pair of long-time rivals alone in the kitchen. ‘Perfect’, Severus lamented to himself, ‘could this mission get any worse?’ Apparently it could; the haughty pureblood that tormented his school years started in with his usual juvenile insults and demanded to stay during the dreaded meeting with his student.

Harry entered the room to a silent but tense stand-off hanging heavy in the air between the two. The boy looked horrified at the prospect of what his antagonistic professor could possibly want with him. Snape repressed a snort—for once Junior was correct in is assumptions; the headmaster’s orders for them to study Occlumency together was downright terrifying. He stated his business quickly and succinctly, and then left for one last evening of peace and solitude in his beloved dungeons before his life would be inevitably and irrevocably changed yet again.

****

Harry made his way towards Snape’s office that Monday with utter trepidation.

What had he learned about Occlumency so far? It seemed it was some sort of mind reading technique and Harry was quaking at the prospect of the man he lusted after-- had starred in his first nocturnal emission, dominated his daydreams and had inspired hundreds of wank fantasies— would somehow be able to access all those very secret thoughts if he was unable to block him. He shuddered to think that anyone, especially Snape might find that out! He supposed the revealing of his subsequent sensual experimentations after learning what puberty was would be humiliating enough for any kid, but given what awakened and continued his interest in sex was far more daunting considering it centered around the Occlumency teacher himself.

Too soon the anxious teen was quailing in the presence of the imposing Potions Master, the intimidating git that was his groin’s greatest desire.   After entering and brief, strained salutations were exchanged, he awaited further instructions. None were forthcoming and he found himself standing with fathomless black eyes boring into his and a wand pointed at his face.

“I will attempt to penetrate your inner-most places. Prepare yourself,” Severus intoned and flinched inside at what that made him envision. Forcing this dirty mind to focus, he snarled, “Legilimens!”

Just as he suspected, Potter junior’s mind was wide open and he was able to tear through the outer layers with absurd ease, like ripping wet tissue paper. He decided to chase every-day mundane and somewhat emotional thoughts first that would be most easily guarded, even by a dimwit like Junior. He purposefully chose to begin with pre-Hogwarts years-- as Albus had done with him-- under the assumption the distance in time would make the charge behind the memories muted and therefore easier to fight against. The colors were muddy, but after encountering no resistance, the general negative feelings sharpened into images and entire snippets fluttered before him:

In an immaculately clean kitchen, Harry was preparing breakfast for the impatient family seated around the table that was mocking and scolding him. He was so small he had to use a stool to reach the cook top. After Petunia and her gluttonous husband and son had been served and finished eating, the skinny boy clad in clothes several sizes too large for him (obviously cast-offs from the obese cousin) was allowed to forage among the leftovers on the plates and pan, much like a pet might. He was then made to wash the dishes and cutlery, needing to stand on the stool to reach the sink....

Another day, a shattered cup lay at the feet of a very young Potter. Petunia was shrieking at him and then the portly man grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, dragging him down a hallway. Harshly shoving him into a cupboard under the stairs, the sickening thud of the boy’s skull colliding with the doorjamb sounded in symphony with a litany of swear words, spat in derision towards the injured boy.   A lock clicked from outside….

A bulldog was chasing him up a tree and the Dursleys and an ugly, stout woman were laughing below on the lawn. The fat son was lazily wheeling a brand new bicycle around the trunk, flaunting his new toy….

The tubby boy was taunting his green-eyed cousin who was sweating as he weeded the garden; the hot summer sun was scorching and the ice cream the triple-chinned kid was holding melted off its cone and fell into the grass. Snot-covered and bawling, he pointed accusingly at Harry when an irate Petunia came to investigate the disturbance. “You foul little freak!” she screeched and slapped Hasrry’s face hard. Again, The-Boy-Who-Lived was chucked unceremoniously into that same cupboard-- but not before the bare bulb inside was unscrewed and taken away. The sound of the latch being secured in place was deafening in the darkness….

There was a gang of menacing kids chasing Harry across a Muggle school playground and all of a sudden, the scruffy and scrawny child was crouched upon the roof with no idea how he’d gotten there. After his legal guardians were summoned and he was stammering explanations that he didn’t quite understand himself, Petunia took a pair of scissors to his unruly locks and snipped them away in uneven clumps. An embarrassed Harry huddled in the cupboard, dreading facing the world the next day with such a ridiculous haircut….

Harry was clutching an old, yellowed newspaper in the dim light of the cupboard, his finger trailing along the lines of print. His lips were moving as he sounded out the words and practiced reading….

A Christmas morning appeared next, the family surrounded by brightly colored packages. Harry was solemnly and dutifully stuffing discarded wrappings and ribbons into a sack. Finally, when the three were finished opening gifts, Petunia thrust a small cardboard box at Harry and pushed him into the cupboard. It contained a used toothbrush. There were sounds of the family leaving the house and a long passage of time. Harry began to squirm uncomfortably and tried rattling the door. It wasn’t budging and the need to use the loo became overpowering….

“NO!” Harry shouted, the noise echoing in his brain. “NO!” he screamed again, the sound ringing and bouncing off the office walls. He couldn’t let Snape continue any more of that last incident! In desperation, his innate magic flared and he pushed with all his might against the foreign invasion in his mind. He felt a sharp pain in his knee; Snape’s office came back into view and he realized that he had fallen to the floor. He looked up to see Snape glaring down at him, rubbing his wrist.

“Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?” asked Snape coolly.

“No,” Harry confessed bitterly, getting up on wobbly legs that didn’t seem able to sustain his weight.

“I thought not,” said Snape, watching him closely. “You let me get in too far. You lost control.”

“Did you see everything I saw?” Harry asked weakly, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer or not.

“Flashes of it,” replied Snape, his lip curling. The austere professor was not willing to admit he’d seen all with frightening clarity to spare them both the awkwardness that would produce. (‘Good lord’, Severus groaned to himself, ‘I must be going soft on the boy.’) To distract himself from that disturbing thought, he forged ahead with an oblique nonsequitur. “To whom did the dog belong?”

“My Aunt Marge,” Harry muttered, feeling humiliated that Snape had seen his cowardly flight up the tree and the ridicule he’d endured. That, and everything else. He felt feverish and his head hurt. His pride was wounded that the object of his crush had seen how weak and pathetic he was while residing at Privet Drive; his face burned with the knowledge that the teacher who thrived on making his life miserable at school was probably thrilled to see how he was treated at home. These were very private things that he’d never told another soul about.

Snape smirked at him, “You were disciplined a lot.”

Harry flushed in anger. “Yeah, so?” He knew it was going to get him in trouble before he said it, but he was too shaken to care at the moment. “And here you thought I was raised like a little prince that could do no wrong. Sir.”

Snape inwardly blanched. It was true, he’d always imagined an up-bringing like James had had—a spoiled childhood that led to inflated self-worth and a grand sense of entitlement. He’d thought that being The-Boy-Who-Lived would pretty much insure it. Snape had interpreted Junior’s behavior at Hogwarts as arrogance and insolent disregard for rules and authority; he’d always felt it his duty and right to deflate that ego. But in light of this new evidence, he was beginning to question that theory.

To cover his own faltering at these new revelations, he lashed out in his typical fashion, goading the temper he loved to rile in the boy. “Too bad we don’t have little jail cells here to lock you in—only detentions and loss of house points to punish you with,” he sneered. “You spent a fair amount of your childhood in that cupboard, did you not?”

“Yes,” Harry stared miserably at the floor, and then mumbled something Snape couldn’t hear. Incensed because he assumed it was some cheeky comment or foul language, he demanded his charge to repeat himself.

“I said, Sir,” and the young man raised his voice, fists tight against his sides. “‘Of course I did. It was my room, after all’.” Harry clenched his jaw and defiantly looked his professor in the face. And then he saw it: Snape’s expression flickered a moment from his usual cold disdain. It was only a split second, but Harry glowed in triumph at seeing the mask slip ever so slightly before it hardened again.

Flustered again at all this contradictory information and his reactions, Snape reigned in his confusion by attempting to continue on in a business-like manner. “We will try once more tonight, and then take this up again next session.” Harry cringed, but stood his ground.

Severus, although he’d never admit it aloud, (and especially not to Albus—he’d never survive the twinkle tornado that would cause!) decided to search out happy memories this era-- of fun times, of loving times in an attempt to soothe the emotional upheaval he’d churned in the boy (and in himself, to be perfectly honest). Plus, he was curious. He didn’t think Potter could achieve a block this early on in his Occlumency education so he would pull out after a few nice scenarios from his pre-Hogwarts days and be done with it, just as Dumbledore had for him after his first grueling lesson.

“Now, discipline your mind. Control your emotions.” Harry really wasn’t sure he would ever be able to do that, but tried anyway when he felt the whoosh of magic roll over him. He sensed the same poking and prodding in the synapses of his brain, but nothing was appearing like last time; he supposed he was grateful he wasn’t re-living humiliating moments, but then the spelunking turned rough and frantic. He tried to repel the increasingly uncomfortable intrusion, but since he didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing in the first place to defend against the attack, it didn’t abate. Finally, the probing movement calmed as Hagrid swam into view:

The half-giant burst into an odd shack on a rock island, presenting a cake baked just for him and told him he was a wizard on his eleventh birthday. Soon the two of them were in Diagon Alley, Harry alive and alight with joy and wonder at this new world. Next was the Hogwarts Express ride and the nervous excitement of making his first friend….

Snape jerked his focus out of the convoluted folds of Harry’s corpus callosum rather ungracefully due to shock at the solitary positive memory of Harry’s past and tried to slow his breathing and regain his composure. Severus was grateful for the fact that the boy was on the floor again, panting, shivering in his sweat-soaked shirt and not paying his professor any attention; he would not see how startled the normally stoic man had become.

Turning his back in a whirl of robes, he managed to steady his voice. “That is all for tonight Mr. Potter. You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep—empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?”

“Yes,” Harry wheezed.

“And be warned, Potter…. I shall know if you have not practiced. You are dismissed.”

Harry hurried toward the office door. As he opened it, he glanced back at Snape. The man was still facing away and silent, so he just shrugged and made his escape.

****

That night, Harry tried to clear his mind as instructed, but was unable due to the emotionally charged memories he’d just had to recount in vivid detail-- with Snape of all people, as his audience. Since he’d found out he was a wizard and come to live at Hogwarts for most of the year, he’d tried to ignore all those thoughts (and was mostly successful since schoolwork and Quidditch kept him plenty occupied). But exactly how was he supposed to forget all the unpleasantness and abuse he’d endured with the Dursleys that the Occlumency lesson had dredged up and thrown in his face that evening?

Try as he might to let it drift away, it was easier said than done; he fell into an uneasy sleep filled with nightmares of being stuck at the number four Privet Drive, both as a child and also as if he’d lost his hearing with the ministry last summer and had been permanently ostracized from the Wizarding world. Being locked in the cupboard under stairs featured predominantly in the dream images and the crushing, belittling feelings he always felt while in that household weighed heavily on his spirit.

He awoke the next morning in a state of defeat. He didn’t even feel like indulging in his usual early morning masturbation. The resultant irritability that caused didn’t go by unnoticed by his friends, although they just figured it was due to having extra lessons with the greasy git. He didn’t correct them, or elaborate on what went on the night before, he just stumbled through his day in a foul mood. Ron and Hermione had the good sense enough not to press him for any in-depth explanations. He was thankful that he could simply wallow in self-pitying silence and avoid unwanted scrutiny.

****

After the uncharacteristically meek Gryffindor fled at the conclusion of the lesson, Severus gathered his jangled wits about him and retired to his quarters. He summoned his decanter of Scotch and Pensieve. He poured over the recollections of the memories he’d witnessed that evening, soaking his stomach and liver in the amber liquid while swimming in the silver vapor in the ancient stone basin.

This changed EVERYTHING Severus thought he knew about The-Boy-Who-Lived! He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it at first.

Was all his late night wandering after curfew due to stress-induced insomnia? He could relate to that. Since Harry had learned of the Wizarding world (on his eleventh birthday no less, and from the brainless gamekeeper!), and his unique role in it-- would the threat of the Dark Lord suffocate and squeeze on his psyche as it did for him?

Did he suffer from claustrophobia, being made to be confined into a small closet during his formative years? Did the vast area of the castle-- a safe strong-hold fortified by benevolent magic-- lend him a sense of freedom for the first time? And provide him with the peace and solitude to think in the quiet, dark hours of the night as it did for him? Was it a way to just breathe without fear of being judged and capriciously punished by the adults in charge that oppressively controlled his every action? It sure was like that for Severus when he was at school and away from his tyrannical father. Severus was loathe to admit that they might be similar in that regard.

As for the arrogance and disrespect Snape attributed to James’ genes, could this perhaps be a newly realized sense of power after years of enforced helplessness? Was this a chance to finally speak up for himself? Defend himself from injustice? Was he solely exhibiting an independence borne of having to take care of himself for his whole life so far? After all, the lad was in constant danger from a murderous, psychopathic lunatic. (And he had taught himself—through trial and error-- to cook, clean, read and tend a garden on his own!)

The lone Christmas gift—after watching and attending to the clean up of his families’ celebration—troubled Severus’ conscious and severely saddened him. To get a second hand toothbrush as his only gift amongst the opulence surrounding him? Even his own less-than-ideal mother had provided more! And to be put back into that cupboard?! He’d thought at first it was simply a form of discipline, but he’d said it was his ‘bedroom’! (Good Lord, did Albus know about this!?!)

And the idiotic risk taking the boy had undertaken while at Hogwarts—was that a manifestation of simply protecting himself and the preciousness of having friends for the first time ever? They were more alike than he’d ever thought possible, with the one exception that the only friend Snape ever wanted to protect was Lily. He had had no others.

Taking a big gulp of Scotch after extracting himself from the Pensieve, Severus hissed through the burn in his throat and vowed to home in on all Harry’s transgressions and rule-breaking next. He just had to know all about those incredible misadventures he always seemed to land him and his friends in—and miraculously come out victorious. Somehow he knew there had to be more to the story.

Everything he had just gleaned and analyzed shed new light onto what he’d recently learned about the boy’s personality (and only served to deepen the infatuation with his sexual obsession). He only hoped that what was revealed next would ease his aching heart after witnessing how similar their childhoods had been.

~~~~

A/N: OK, this Occlumency journey just got too long for all that I wanted to include so it’s going to be broken up into parts. Up next: More Occlumency, more angsty revelations, and then, FINALLY-- fun sexy stuff! (Yay smut!)
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Snape's Curse