Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Recompense	By : Sparrowbirdie Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3177 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, Midsomer Murders or Troy. I make no profit from writing this story. This is a work of fiction.

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Months passes. I feed from his chord, I grow. I live beneath Severus' heart, its steady beats is the rhythm of my life. It's November. There are men who are following my Severus down the streets where he walks. They observe. They work for the Ministry.

My father reads in the Daily Prophet: 'Let it be clear to all wizards and witches of the Ministry. There are no, and there will be no negotiations concerning a transfer of the child of Severus Snape to the Ministry. If anyone plans of kidnapping this child or Severus Snape, and the Ministry will pay dearly, regardless of the kidnapper's affiliation. You may all rest assured that should Severus Snape and his offspring be separated in any way, I will make sure that the wizarding society of Great Britain is pulverized back to Stone Age conditions.'

My father the eudaimon wrote this. I sometimes feel his presence not far from us. The Ministry is watching us, and he is watching them. A eudaimon. A half demon born from the belly of a criminal. A magical creature ranking higher than average demon brutes. They tell no lies. They read minds. They have a taste for evil. They are the predators of human society and they prey on the wicked. I dig into my father's memories and I find his cross. The day he betrayed what he knew of the prophecy about Harry Potter, to Voldemort. He bears this remorse with mentally slumped shoulders. It pains him immensely to think of it. Severus chooses to think of me instead, pushing the memory away. He clings to the knowledge that he bears a child, hoping for it to exonerate him somehow.

Harry could have been yours. Had you, Severus, acted upon that impulse that evening in September, during your seventh year at Hogwarts, you would have fathered a boy. But you chose to withdraw from your resentment against her. You hesitated, chose not to force yourself on her, though you craved her body deeply. You respected her boundaries. You could have forced a simple kiss, but you didn't.

Had you, my dear father, kissed Narcissa Black one more time in the dark of the alley outside The Three Broomsticks in late December the very same year, she would have given in. She would have neglected her vow to Lucius Malfoy and given herself to you. You would have fathered another boy. And his hair would have been black, not platinum blond. But you hesitated, thinking about Lily.

So many possible futures gone because of a slight hesitation. Severus has been hesitating, his entire life. I find that my personality leaves next to no room for hesitation. To make up for all of these hesitations in his life, for opportunities gone and lost with the wind, I vow to be impulsive one in his life. It is written in my blood, it pulses down my spine. I will be Severus' opposite. I will warm his blood and force him into action. He has it in him. Determination, fierceness, cruelty, kindness, heroism. He speaks his mind, he is forward in matter of great concern to him. But in love – he hesitates. Love has him twisting and cowering like a viper caught by an army of angry ants. And it has him slithering back into his hole where he licks his wounds. But I will draw him out. He loves me, I can feel it. Still, it frightens him. And he must not fear love. Neither in receiving it nor giving it.

Can you feel it? I ask my Severus. I am here to fill the gap in your heart, to love you. I am yours. I am of your flesh and blood. I am the son you always imagined you'd have with Lily Evans. Until she crushed that dream and that hope when she fell in love with James Potter. I fill him up with my love for him. It's unconditional and pure, almost raw and merciless in its form. It leaves no room for hesitation. No room for second thoughts.

November passes. I fill his nights with passion, I fill up his nether regions with blood, I make his private parts swell. His blood rushes, his hormones swarm and the endorphins buzz about in his body. He strokes himself, his breathing is ragged and shallow. He gasps, and he mutters absent-mindedly: “Oh my baby …! My lord …!” and he begs weakly and half-heartedly for me to stop. I have been having trouble reading his mind of late. This body of mine, the human part of me which is nearly complete, is blurring my otherwise sharp senses. Once the orgasms pass, Severus calms down, puts his hands affectionately on top of his belly. I feel his touch, I see his hands and I feel the slight electricity pulsating from them. The blood boiling in the veins which slowly calms down. One more? I ask him gingerly, and I feel him panic. “No, no please no … are you mad? I must sleep ...” he responds with satisfaction in his voice. Outside, in the street, I sense the presence of my eudaimon father. He observes the observer. Then he attacks, and the observer is dragged screaming through a black hole, to Hell. The scream which was cut short, wakes my father. Severus is on the alert, ready with his wand. He checks the windows. He feels vulnerable. He feels big as a house now. He cannot move so fast any longer. Yes. I have grown big. But this wasn't what I was hoping for. This body – its reflexes and limbs are hard to control. It's all brand new. I've never used a body before. I've never been in one. It's all new. Severus senses my insecurity. He misinterprets it, thinking it means he's in danger. He does not sleep for the remainder of the night.

December pass. Winter solstice. It's getting awfully crowded inside his belly. I understand that my time here, in bliss, is coming to an end. I feel how his body is changing. It's opening beneath me, like a shaft into the light. Slowly it opens, day by day. One night, I decide I will be more comfortable lying upside down, so I turn around and place my head on his bladder. My movements startle him. His pulse quickens, and because I am amused with his reaction, I give him a solid kick in the rib. The thrust makes me inch forward. My father moans and stumbles to the loo, half-blinded by sleep. In his mind, he fully understands that there's actually a live child inside of him.

January comes marching on. Severus can feel it now. He senses the changes in his body. Every evening, he has birth throes. The canal to the outside opens, flesh melts and transforms. Severus is in pain, he is concerned. January 9^th. It's morning. It's 38 years to the day since Severus was born. His body opens. This bubble in which I have been content, bursts. Water trickles down Severus' legs, and I feel panic and terror explode in his chest. He does not know what to do. He tears his vest from his shoulders. I tell him to boil loads of water. I send him off into the bathroom for fresh towels. The first of many birth pangs come, and I feel his body squeeze around me. It wants me out. I want to stay. With the water gone, things are getting uncomfortable. He puts the towels on the hot floor tiles of the bathroom. Another throe comes. It's annoying, and it squeezes me two whole inches downwards. The squeeze is uncomfortable, and I feel frustration growing. I am unwanted by his body. Severus is frightened. He knows this is it, it's happening. He's being practical about it though, thinking about minimizing the pain with a numbing spell. His fingers clutches around his wand, but he hesitates. He wants to know the pain, he is in for the ride. He wants the full experience, unsure of the outcome. For weeks now, he has understood and come to terms with the birthcanal opening. I am not on terms with it, at all. I do not welcome this tunnel of light!

Expectation and alertness is what Severus is about now. He is a mixture of joy because he will soon see me and hold me, and he is worried about how I in fact intend to get out of his body. How can something so big fit through a hole so small? The throes continue, and they grow stronger in intensity, pushing me downwards. Severus grits his teeth. I grow angrier. I do not want this! Yet there is nothing I can do to stop it. Why oh why can it not last? What am I supposed to do on the outside with such a weak and useless body?!

Severus is concerned, sensing my anger. The pressure of his muscles grow intense. I feel squeezed together. He takes his trousers off. He can no longer wander about. He decides he will have a shower. Big mistake. He flicks the water on. First, cool on his back, then warm and soothing on his aching abdomen and at the small of his back. Blood trickles down the insides of his thighs. He looks down and as he sees it, he begins to panic. He does not understand. He thinks it is my blood. He fears I am dying. Another throe. Severus moans in pain and squats. He drops his wand. As he sits, gravity helps him, widening the opening. More blood flows. Another throe.

“No – no – no …!” he mutters in desperation, frantic to find my mind, to find that I am still alive. Another throe, so intense, Severus groans out in pain. The water runs soothingly ontop his head, soaking his black hair, pouring down his back. “Oh please, no, be alive, be alive …!!” he continues to wail, this time. He cannot hold back now. His body wants me out, and it prompts him to push. I am angry. I feel his anxiety, but I have trouble focusing. I cannot answer his request. There's too much pressure. Severus pushes, mobilizing all of his muscles in the nether region. It squeezes in, and I am forced downwards, forced to turn my position slightly. The top of my head touches the humid air of the outside. I can feel it, and it's cold. My father cries out in pain as he pushes once more. He's thinking: Whether I am alive or dead, I have to come out. My head is sucked into the narrowest place on my path to the outside. It feels as if it's put into a vice. It's uncomfortable, and it hurts me. I want to cry, but the scream gets stuck in my throat. I feel father gasping above me, I feel his fingers touching the top of my head which is on the outside. The first touch, and it imbues him with new strength. He pushes again, aided by the birth forces of his body. This time, he cries out in pain. My head pops out. Father gasps and draws a deep breath. He sees me, and the greasy, bloody, wrinkled little face shocks him. He almost panics. The next throe comes, and he pushes with all his might, hoping it to be the last one. My chest is squeezed together, so much I can hardly breathe. He pushes again, and I slide out of him and onto the tiles of the shower, where blood and grease and other unidentifiable things already are mixed. Shaking and weak, he moves to rest onto his knees. The chord which still connects us is pulsating, and when Severus moves, it is drawn out of him. He is panting, fighting for air. My father listens to my wails, looks at me. I feel betrayed, abandoned and helpless. I open my mouth to cry, and the wails of a baby come out.

Hold me close to your body, please let me feel your skin! I plead, feeling really confused and hurt. I am sore all over, my body aches all over and I am cold.

“You must – give me a moment …!” he replies, still gasping for air, shaking from exhaustion. He wipes away the worst of the grease from my body, cleaning me gently. I can feel his eyes on my tiny, weak and useless body. There is adoration and an unlimited love in his eyes and in his heart. He sobs, from pain and from joy. He is proud of himself, proud of me and thankful for this gift – this recompense. He does not think this frail and tiny body as useless. To him, it's the greatest of gifts. He smiles and cries at the same time. He touches the mass of greasy black hair on my head with unrestrained tenderness. I open my eyes to look at him. He stops in his tracks. All I see is a big hazy black and a hazy skin tone with two black dots. My father's eyes. I have seen him previously through his eyes, staring at his reflection in the mirror. I loved what I saw then, and now I am filled up with frustration because this futile body cannot produce the same, crystal clear image. I want to see him, to inspect every crevice and inch of his skin. The only consolation is that he is pleased with what he is seeing. He delights in taking in this small, naked and wrinkled body. It's something he helped create. His masterpiece! He adores me! He loves me! I feel his eyes on my body and I love it, it arouses my senses and gives me tremendous pleasure. But alas, I cannot do anything with it. I have the body of an infant. I feel a need. I pee on his arm. He doesn't mind. Then I must something else as well. He doesn't mind that either. It falls to the floor, black-brown and mushy. It's washed away by the water.

Severus moans, winces in pain. I feel that the chord has stopped living, life is ebbing out of it now that I have drawn air into my lungs. It hurts to breathe. I still ache all over. Severus manages to shut the water off. He reaches for a towel with a great effort. He places me on it. Gently. Like I'm made of glass. He puts another towel over me. It warms me, but it's not his body. It doesn't smell anything like him. He feels far away. He sighs and groans, and the placenta follows. He sighs relieved. Please, let that be the end of it, he thinks. I yearn for his body, I tell him I long to be held in his arms again, to smell his skin. He seems so far away even though not one metre separates us. He severs the umbilical chord. Now, I am truly separated from him. All on my own. On the outside, forever shut out from my home and my temple. His body. I'm not an hour old, and already life is hard.

Having spelled the placenta away, Severus dragged himself out of the shower. The cubicle looked like the scene of a murder. He'd never felt this tired. Every muscle in his body ached, and he felt sore and raw. His thighs were stiff, his knees hurt, his shivered and could barely lift a towel. He moved closer to the little boy. Severus gently stirred a hand, or a foot once every minute to see if the creature still lived. It apparently did. The greatest moment was without a doubt when the child opened its eyes and looked at him. He could feel little Alistair's mind hanging on to his. The cockiness was gone. So was the joy and the child's keen nature which had been shining through in everything. All of that had been replaced by uncertainty and fright. A sudden sensibility had taken over, and Severus suspected that Alistair's birth had taken its toll on Alistair himself, as well as Severus. Just laying there, having no strength for anything else, except putting towels between his legs to stop the bleeding, Severus pulled the bundle of towels and child close to him, so close he could curl up around the baby. Only then did Alistair's mood seem to improve. It was a moment in time. Severus fell into a half-slumber, frightened that the baby would be gone somehow if he fell asleep. He was so glad it was over. They'd both survived, and on the outside at least, Alistair looked normal. In fact, he looked perfect!

An hour later, Severus managed to do a number of things. He managed to dry himself, slightly. He managed to spell the bleeding into a stop. He managed to crawl out of the bathroom, dragging the towels which baby Alistair lay on, like a sleigh, next to him along the way. He crawled into the kitchen, got himself up on his feet and got himself a large glass of water. Then he got dizzy, and had to get back on hands and knees. It worked, and he dragged himself and baby Alistair to the bedroom. He dared not use Mobilicorpus until minutes later, having rested on the floor near the bed. He levitated the baby onto the mattress before he did the same with himself. There, he fell into blissful sleep.

Waking hours later to Alistair's wails, Severus found himself laying in a pool of something wet. He had no idea of how many hours had passed, and when he checked his watch, he realised he had been sleeping for nine hours. To his astonishment, his nipples ached, and when he looked down, he got the shock of his life.

They weren't just nipples any more, they were attached to huge melons! Breasts! Severus sighed, rolled his eyes and fought hard to get over the degradation. Somehow it made sense, a voice in the back of his head whispered. He'd given birth. He needed a way to feed it. Women did this all the time! There were all of the sudden a great number of issues he wasn't prepared to face. But Alistair's was wailing like mad! Severus had no time to think, no time to hesitate. He got over his pride and rolled on to his side. He got it right somehow, laying on his side, turning Alistair to face him and then he stuffed the oversized and swollen bud into the baby's mouth. The wailing stopped and a new kind of pain ensued. He inhaled sharply as the boy sucked away at the unprepared nipple, obviously mastering the art easily. Alistair looked as if he was at peace. He shut his eyes, and the angry crease above his eyebrows flattened out, disappearing completely. Those little hands lay nestled close to his chest. Severus kept really still, and he listened to the noises of the baby as he inhaled through the tiny nose, sucked and swallowed away contentedly. It was a beautiful moment, though somewhat awkward. He was thankful no one saw him. If there ever had existed a bond between them, it was strengthened a thousand times over at this moment. Severus knew now, that nothing could make him give up this child voluntarily.

He was on his feet the next day. But standing upright and walking were two different things all together. Alistair was angry because his father had left the room without him. He insisted on being picked up and comforted. He wanted the closeness to his father's skin, but Severus ignored him. He had to use the toilet. He just had to.

Come back to me, don't leave me here! Alistair wailed in his head as well.

“I need to have a moment” Severus mumbled. It occurred to him that he ought to have the offspring looked at by a physician. Or a nurse. But who could he trust? The only one he could think of, was Madam Pomfrey. Leaving Alistair into someone else's care was unthinkable. But Severus knew nothing about raising children. He couldn't risk sending a letter to Pomfrey either. It could be intercepted by the Ministry. And Snape intended to stay far away from the eudaimon who had put him in this situation as well. Not because he bore any grudges. No, it went much deeper than that. Severus knew he would fall apart if the eudaimon decided to take the child from him for some reason. He wasn't being rational, Severus reminded himself. But then again, he'd never felt so vulnerable and stripped of resources as now. And he'd never before had so much to lose.

The memory of Lily's death seemed so unimportant now. Overnight, his love for her had been eviscerated. And replaced by something far stronger. Fatherhood. Severus went back to the bedroom. He lay next to his baby boy, who was wide awake, blinking at him. To think that something so little, can be so powerful!

“I must eat. I'm starving. You're sucking the very life out of me” Severus told Alistair. He gave the boy a weak smile.

Hold me? Was the response from Alistair in Severus' head.

“Of course” he replied, picking up the infant. As he walked out into the kitchen, it occurred to Severus that this was almost deja vu. He remembered when Voldemort had first returned, and then as a weak, baby-like creature. Wormtail had been the 'father' then, running around like mad to do the dark lord's bidding. And the dark lord had been helpless, trapped in the small, pitiful fleshlike condition. Much like this. But there was a difference. Alistair's mind and voice when he communicated, seemed young and inexperienced. A youth. But with the powers of a eudaimon and the knowledge of how to use them. All of this combined with innocence, and rock-steady devotion for Severus. Voldemort had, despite his body, been the same calculative, cold person that Severus remembered from the past, when the Death Eaters had been formed as a group. And he always remained a grown-up, experienced mind. There was something raw and unharnessed in Alistair, a ferocity lurking just behind the innocence. A ferocity Severus had begun to realise during the nights when Alistair had been inside of him, setting his bearer's body on fire and goading him to orgasm. Severus was not sure who was the master and who was the slave, in this relationship. Alistair was well aware that he depended on Severus. For now, the former headmaster would be in control. But what would happen when Alistair grew up?

Madam Pomfrey turned up at Hogwarts in the evening. She had chosen to fly in by broom from her home in Ilfracombe in Devon. It had been a bumpy ride, with lots of turbulence and rain. Flustered and with her hair in disorder, she entered the hospital wing, finding that Minerva was waiting for her. With her was Severus Snape. All though the letter she received in the evening by owl, was a favour asked kindly by Minerva, Poppy had a feeling something else lurked behind the meaning of the words. There was an urgency in the way it was written, and her suspicions had immediately latched on to Severus Snape's condition. Approaching them, she understood that she had been right in her assumptions. There was a tiny bundle in Severus' arms. The Daily Prophet had followed his movements during the months, and Poppy had scarcely dared to admit to herself that she found his pregnancy intriguing. From a medical point of view, nothing else. In fact, she had been dying to examine him, and her head had been brimming with medical questions she wanted to ask. She held all of that back now. There were no need for words. Severus was reluctant to put the child down, afraid she might steal him. Pomfrey wasn't a stranger to a new mother's protectiveness towards her newborn, and Severus exhibited the same signs. Holding her breath, Pomfrey carefully undid the blanket, producing the small naked body of Severus' baby. He had soiled the blanket. And Poppy immediately began to clean it and the boy as well.

“When was he born?” she asked Severus softly. She had never before seen him so – emotional about anyone.

“Yesterday” was the short reply. Severus cleared his throat.

“May I ask how he – was born?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did he come out?”

“The usual way – obviously” Severus replied quietly, attempting to maintain an unattached tone, as he so frequently had with his students. Besides, the birth was something he'd rather forget about.

“Well, it's certainly a healthy boy” she said, feeling the soles of Alistair's tiny feet, observing the legs and testing the hips.

“Is that really necessary?!” Severus asked when she pressed on the boy's hips to see if they were in order. Alistair wailed, obviously being uncomfortable. Severus was ready to snatch the boy right out under her fingers. Alistair was awake, peering at her with delicious brown eyes. She leaned in and looked into his eyes, ignoring Severus' question completely.

“Hello, dear boy” she said softly. She hesitated, then turned her face towards Severus. “He smells of breast milk, and his poop was also yellow. A sign that he has been given breast-milk. Do you have someone who feeds him?”

“I feed him myself” Severus replied instantly, offended at the suggestion that he was unable to nurse Alistair. He realised his mistake at once. He'd just admitted to having breasts.

“You must forgive me my ignorance, Mister Snape. Male pregnancies is uncommon” Pomfrey responded, having understood that she had touched in on a difficult subject. She glanced from his face and to his chest – and observing it now, she saw that it was in deed swollen. Severus averted his eyes, not knowing where to look. It was all extremely embarrassing. Pomfrey said nothing in response, only mentally noting his reaction. Severus had obviously been through a traumatic experience, and now his body was accommodating the child, but to him it was awkward and wrong. She turned her attention back to Alistair, and put one hand on his chest, then turned him onto his belly. The boy instantly turned his head and arranged his hands and feet into a crawling position. “His backbone is excellent in symmetry, and his reflexes are perfect. Look, he attempts to crawl. Just how it's supposed to be.” She turned to gaze at Snape again. “May I ask how often he feeds?” She kept her tone of voice soft.

“Every – third hour” Severus replied. The truth of of it was, he'd hardly been able to get any sleep. Alistair seemed insatiable, feeding on milk as if his life depended on it.

“Is it a problem to feed him?”

“No, on the contrary, everything's fine.”

“May I – examine you, in order to make sure that everything is in order?” She looked at him and nodded towards his crotch. He hesitated, obviously debating on whether or not to agree. “If you gave birth yesterday, there's chance something might have to be mended. Are you in pain?”

“If you refer to the feeling of being ploughed through by a steam train, then yes, I am in pain.” Severus instantly regretted that. Admitting to how he actually felt, was a bit of a defeat. To say the least.

Severus stripped down behind a curtain. He propped himself up on the examination table with a towel across his lap. Skidding forward until his cheeks lined up with the edge of the table, he spread his legs, and the uncomfortable feeling of sore flesh in reparation, came back to him as he did so. He looked away as Madam Pomfrey made her way past the curtain and sat down between his legs. He had to glance at her face. She was calm but apprehensive. Her eyebrows raised slightly in shock. It was the only sign she gave away at her emotional state. Inside, she gaped at the strange landscape of flesh before her. She cleared her voice.

“I trust the placenta came out as well?” she asked him quietly. She hadn't touched anything yet.

“It did.”

“Have you been experiencing more throes during the night?”

“Stomach aches when he – when – I fed him” was Severus' diplomatic answer.

“Good. That's normal. I would like to cast some healing charms on you, if you don't mind.”

“Why?” Was Severus' prompt reply, the word brimming with concern.

“Well, as you yourself said, Mister Snape, it's obvious that a steam train came through this way.”

Severus gave no response except a deep sigh. Madam Pomfrey took it as a silent affirmation to her request. She cast the charms, and then retreated, allowing Snape his privacy when dressing. While dressing, he heard Alistair whimper and then cry. Hurrying out from behind the curtain, he could see that the little boy had developed an angry red to his face. The sore cry soon became angry wails. Severus was quick to pick him up, not caring that he wasn't properly dressed. He put the boy to his shoulder and soothed him, but Alistair only had one thing on his mind. Food. Severus walked away from the two women, and found himself a lone bed. There, he sat down and practised the feeding position he'd discovered just this morning. He undid his shirt, and a large breast, ripe with milk, more or less tipped out. Bringing Alistair's mouth to the nipple, the baby boy immediately latched on.

Heaven! Alistair told him, sucking away greedily. Everything was right, now, Alistair told his father, this was where he belonged. Here, close to his skin, to be able to smell it and to taste it. His father's skin, Alistair's temple! Again, Severus mused, this creature, this tiny yet so powerful creature claimed him, loved every inch of him and shamelessly saying so. Oh, how good it felt to be submitting to someone like this child – or eudaimon – who appreciated him so!

Severus was suddenly conscious of another presence nearby. Awoken from his reverie, he saw it was Madam Pomfrey. She walked quietly towards the neighbouring bed, and sat down with her hands folded in her lap. For several minutes, they said nothing. She sat quietly, just observing them. Father and son.

“Is he – appreciative of you?” she then asked, almost whispering.

“Very much so.”

“Does he – communicate with you?”

Yes” Severus replied quietly, and more softly than he'd intended.

“Do you – know much about children?”

“Not infants” Severus replied. He was – ever since yesterday, oblivious to his surroundings when Alistair was feeding. He could not tear his gaze away from the little creature – the way his jaw worked persistently when he sucked – and the noises Alistair made. Content noises. He observed the mass of greasy black hair on the boy's head, which he hadn't dared to clean yet. The tiny, tiny hands and the perfect tiny, tiny nails on each finger. What a miracle that something so fragile could get so perfect!

“May I instruct you – on some things. Like changing nappies? On dressing him and bathing him?”

Severus nodded absent-mindedly. He did not see the weak lop-sided smile shaping on Poppy's lips. It was a genuine smile of tenderness, for in his haze of joy, Severus neglected to hide the loving look on his face. Poppy Pomfrey left them to it, glad to see that the bond between parent and baby was right where it ought to be. Severus had gone straight into the baby blues.
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Recompense