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Vivisection	By : LumosMinima Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 5978 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters from it. I make no money writing fanfiction. No infringement is intended.

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That night, tossing and turning under the blankets, Harry dreamed of the war for the first time sine his awakening from the coma. Not the war, specifically, but their last day in the Order’s Headquarters in Northern Scotland, and the last day they had Snape with them.

“You’re making a mistake,” Moody said, taking Harry aside. “I mean Snape,” he elaborated, met with Harry’s quizzical look.

“Explain,” Harry said. That was one thing he always appreciated about Alastor – the man never held back.

“Snape will betray us, if you send him back to Voldemort,” Moody said bluntly.

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s unstable.”

“In what way?” Harry pressed.

“He fancies you. Did you know that?”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.”

Moody’s mangled lips twisted into what may have been a smirk.

“I notice things.” Moody’s mutilated hand rose to point to his own artificial eye. “This – sees things. Things that the others miss. His blood pressure and heartbeat accelerate whenever he’s near you.”

“Maybe that’s because he still can’t stand me.”

“No,” Moody protested, “Not like that. Differently.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “Potter, he wants you. With the desperation of a man who is losing a war and losing everything. You can’t give him anything – not yourself, not victory. Snape always looks out for himself. Mark my word: if you can’t give him anything, if you cast him out, he will turn to someone who is his second choice.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said mildly, doing his best to soothe the man’s paranoia once more. “Dumbledore trusted him…”

“At that time, he had cause to trust him. Since then things have changed, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re still going to win,” Harry insisted. He added, mildly, “Alastor, we don’t have a choice. Voldemort is planning something foul, something huge. We haven’t got a hope of even finding out what that is – without Snape. Snape is our only hope of containing whatever it is that Voldemort has decided to do.”

“You’re wrong to place your hope in him. Because whatever Voldemort is holding in his hands, Snape is going to unleash.”

Harry shook his head. He could be stubborn, too, much to the displeasure of Alastor, who’d always thought Harry was too young to lead the order. But Alastor was outvoted and fell in line, albeit with some reluctance.

“I haven’t been wrong yet,” Harry pointed out.

“Mark my word. Snape is going to be the your first mistake – and your last. You won’t get a chance to make another.”

*

When Harry woke, it was early morning. He pulled the blanket over his head, trying to escape the irritation of the spring sunlight that seemed to find its way through the smallest gaps between the window curtains and paint a bright-fiery line on his pillow.

Why does it need to be so bloody bright, Harry thought morosely. Why can’t it always be dark, or at least, suitably grey…

The memory of the dream rolled back into the background, leaving a bitter aftertaste of bile in Harry’s mouth. He thought of the last night and cringed, recalling Snape’s attempt at pleasuring him... Maybe Alastor had been right. Maybe Snape cracked when Harry had sent him back to Voldemort. Or maybe … maybe it was far less complex than that. Maybe Snape had never been truly loyal to anyone and simply went with whatever he wanted most at the moment. If so, this was the perfect life for him – becoming a toy for people’s immediate wants and whims.

When Harry got dressed and made it back to the living room, Snape was asleep on the floor, in the same spot where Harry had left him. He’d rolled onto his side in his sleep, and half-curled into himself. His hands were clutching at his chest, as if he were afraid that his body was going to fall apart, and he was holding it together.

Harry touched his side with the toe of his boot.

“Could you be more pathetic, if you tried? Get up.”

Snape stirred and lifted himself on the elbow. There seemed to be the same air of disorientation in his movements – as if he really didn’t know where he was. Eventually, he appeared to have collected himself, at least in sufficient measure to ask,

“May I use the shower?”

“Don’t bother,” Harry shot back. “You can clean yourself up at the Centre. Which is where I’m taking you this instant.”

Snape did look at him then, briefly, intensely.

“I thought you were keeping me for two more days,” he said.

Harry shrugged. “There’s no point. There’s no ‘you’ to keep, Snape. There’s only the two holes and I’ve fucked them both already.”

Snape’s gaze never left Harry’s face.

“Were you expecting to find something more?” he shocked Harry by asking.

“Not really,” Harry said tiredly, feeling like the entire thing was getting out of hand. He wanted to be rid of Snape more than ever.

For a brief while they were both silent. Snape slowly rose to his feet, looked around, taking stock of his surroundings and still seeming mildly disoriented.

“Potter,” Snape spoke again. “Have you got a cigarette?”

“What?” Harry stared at him.

“A cigarette.”

“What if I do?”

“Let me have one.”

Harry hesitated. He didn’t really want to delay taking Snape back to the Centre – having him over was just too bloody nauseating.

“Potter,” Snape interrupted his thoughts, with something like desperation in his voice, “will it kill you? I’m not asking you to save me, or keep me, or talk to me, or do anything of the sort. I’m asking for a single cigarette. Surely in the infinite wealth of resources at your disposal you can afford that?”

Harry gritted his teeth and walked to his bookshelf. The pack of John Players was found a minute later and Harry tossed it to Snape along with a lighter.

“Make it quick.”

“I’ll open the door and smoke on the porch. You haven’t got neighbours, I imagine?”

“No neighbours,” Harry whispered, as Snape walked into the darkened hallways. “Just lots of empty space here, and the unplottability charms all around it.”

When Snape opened the door, the daylight, blinding and fierce, poured into the house. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, staring at the slender darkened silhouette in the doorway and almost wishing he never let Snape have that cigarette.

Snape sat down on the porch, flinching as his battered backside came in contact with the damp wood, but didn’t stand up. He stretched out his bony legs and lit the cigarette he’d pulled out of the pack.

Harry came up to the doorway and stared at him, as Snape exhaled a puff of smoke through the swollen lips.

“How much empty space?” Snape asked suddenly.

“A lot. Miles of it,” Harry said.

Snape turned to sit sideways in the doorway, leaned his back against the doorpost and shut his eyes.

“How bad is the earth?” he asked.

“I thought you didn’t get news there?” Harry shot back.

“I don’t. But it takes no expert to see that something is very wrong.” Snape slid down to the lowest step of the porch and picked up a handful of dirt, cradling it in his hand like a fledgling bird. “How long has it been this way?”

“Three years. We – they – noticed something was wrong about four months after the war was over. Maybe five.”

“How is it in the Muggle world?” Snape asked.

“The Muggle world is fine. Only the wizarding world is… like this.” Harry stared at Snape intently. “Is it Voldemort’s work?”

“It’s possible, I suppose. I don’t remember. ” Snape thought of it for a minute, then added, “If I were a betting man, I’d wager on this being a side-effect of some sort. A natural consequences of the many things we did to each other.” However, “Snape exhaled another puff of smoke, “I’m afraid I’ve got nothing left to wager against anything.” He opened his palm and the small handful of dirt slipped through his fingers.

“Do you know how to fix it?” Harry asked.

Snape shook his head and butted out the cigarette without finishing it. He rose to his feet and handed the lighter and the pack of cigarettes back to Harry.

“I don’t envy you, Potter,” he said softly and his lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I’m not likely to see the outcome of this sorry mess. You, on the other hand, will have to live with this, and in this, for a very long time.”

Harry reacted instantly, backhanding Snape on the mouth, hard. Snape flinched ever so slightly, then touched the bloodied lower lip with his tongue.

“You aren’t anyone to talk,” Harry told him, barely able to credit how much rage he felt around Snape after many months of benumbed indifference. “You’ve caused this. Directly, or indirectly, I don’t care. And we don’t need you to fix it. We’ll be fine, we’ll make do. And yes, you will be around to see it and know how utterly useless you are.”

For the first time since Harry brought him here, Snape threw his head back and held it high.

“Then take me back, Potter,” he said. There was something strange in his voice – bitterness, resignation, Harry couldn’t tell what. “Take me back to the Centre and be done with me.”

Snape turned around and headed to the Floo. Harry followed him.

to be continued

delia cerrano : thank you for reading and reviewing. I feel very much the same about the two of them.
M3 : thank you very much, I'll try.
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Vivisection