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Harm	By : her2eternity Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1349 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Harm
- 2-Salt and Copper
- 1
- 2
I. Confession

Do you love me?/I love you, handsome/But do you love me?/Yes, I love you, you are handsome

-Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, �Do You Love Me (Part II)�

�Fuck!� He spat the word into her mouth and she swallowed it, greedy pink tongue and
groping hands, down, down, down and that�s why he was here, wasn�t it? When his mouth was filthy it made her nerve-endings
hum, made her skin shiver over the delicate architecture of her bones, and she licked the profanity from between his teeth.
Spit like wine, silver on his lips, and he was drunk with her, rational thought unwinding like a skein of thread. Ariadne
he thought, Greek mythology and she had given Jason the magical thread to help him find theotauotaur, the bull monster at the
center of the Labyrinth. Shattering mind full of dim corridors and treacherous turns, but follow the thread, follow the
thread, oh where oh why is she taking me? A stolen kiss, a schoolboy�s game, nothing, played out many times, all the more
enticing, flattering, dangerous with a Professor. But now she had him, and not for the first time, locked away in her
office and all alone, not like a game anymore, terror nibbling away at his assumptions and this was too far too fast too
strong. Desperate entreaties fell on selective ears.

�Please,� he moaned and she had him begging now, crushing him beneath the sole of her boot and he was writhing, butterfly
boy stuck fast on the pinprick of his desires. �We can�t . . .� And he was so young, too young, a man�s body and a boy�s
mind in one electrically forbidden package, but that was what she liked, oh yes, that was what she craved. This one was
sweet; his breath like honey, hot under her hands and squirming so prettily that her heart nearly broke with the beauty of
it.

But no, she would not be the one breaking; oh no, she was the breaker, the undoer, the serpentine destroyer, and she wanted
to reduce this pleading little plaything to ash. She was the violent flame, the wildfire, utterly beyond his control and his
brain had shrunk to a pinpoint of darkness against her inferno. �Please,� he whimpered again, and her claw-fingers bit into
hollowed cheeks, tightened skin over prominent cheekbones. Seething eyes, amethyst cold, took in the terrified face.

�You have something to say, Mister Snape?� He shuddered against the wall as her voice rasped across his name, trying vainly
to shield the soft parts of his body from her raptor hands. Those hands on his wrists like manacles, slamming him back
against the stone, razor smile at the tear trekking so enchantingly down his cheek.

�You�re hurting me.� A hard and horrible confession, pried forcibly from his throat, so sharp - he could almost taste the
blood. Wine, red wine and the Mediterranean had been called the wine-dark sea in Homer�s day. Think of that, think of
oceans, think of water, think of drowning, oblivion, better than here, better than this world, but oh her hands, her hands,
her hands . . .

�Look at me,� asp-voiced and predatory and another tear joined the first. Cold hands bit down on thin wrists and pain
ricocheted off the white interior of his skull, filling his head with holes, giving the serpent plenty of room to writhe
in. �I gave you an order, Mister Snape.�

Fear and bile simmered in his throat but he did as he was told, he was a good boy, he was a prize student, his mind was
full of diamonds, he was precious, he was untouched, he was dying. He opened his eyes and stared into the face of Professor
Lyria Acantha, Potions Master, majestic, dark and towering black-winged angel who infested his dreams like plagues,
locusts, scarab beetles, rivers of blood but he could not stop. He could not stop.

�Do you think I�ve even begun to hurt you?� her voice, slender thorns prickling under his skin, and he did cry then,
sixteen, no child, not really, but he wailed wordlessly for his mother. Pink kitten tongue, roguish, hidden behind dagger
fangs, flickered out and took the tears fhis his cheeks. Soft little face in the cup between his ear and shoulder,
�Everything about you is so sweet - how could I not want to open you up and lick the heart from your chest?�

�I�m only giving you what you want, you know. I�m only giving you what you asked me for. So precocious, so bright - I
reward all my best students. They all thank me . . . eventually.� Claws at the neckline of his robes, ripping down, down,
down, harsh breathing (his own) and her approval (a growl.) Stone cold against his naked shoulders, robe half-off and
crumpled around his waist, no protection, black, empty, his soul leaking out through his exposed skin, his heart shriveling
in his chest. �Kiss me,� and her mouth was hovering over his, her tongue probing insistently at the wet cavern before it.
�Give me your tongue,� and she engaged it roughly, owned it, sacrificed it on the altar of her teeth and he could not even
take it back to scream.

Blood between them now and she drinks from the fount, a glorifying elixir of hate and desire, fear and degradation. Sends
it swirling back into his mouth, harpy laughter when he gags, near-convulses, anything, anything to escape. �No my pretty,�
she simpers and purrs, �you�ve not given me what I want yet.�

He wreaths his mind in darkness as icy hands slick blood-spit down his chest, pale skin, scrubbed clean and tender, how
many hours did he spend under the water trying to wash the impression of her hands away? How many layers of skin had he
scoured from the fragile cage of his ribs, trying to make himself feel something other than her touch, her breath,
lust-terror, the cold black place where he lived in his head?

She would ignore him, sometimes. Months would uncoil, the nightmares would end, but then he had the right answer too many
times, and she could only see his hand in the air so often before she wanted to sink her teeth into the supple skin and
drain the blood from his veins. Vampire and her teeth plucked at his chest, grim promise of what lay in store. Her hand,
her hand, stealthily lower, his stomach prickling, rising to his toes as he willed himself to melt into the wall, to
disappear, to become nothing. Over the concave snow-white field of his stomach, long nails brushing against the sculptured
rise of his hipbone and his answering gasp, no one had ever touched hiere,ere, no one came so close to him, but this woman,
this sorceress, this monster with amethyst eyes had staked her claim on his body and left him with what remained.

Her mouth burned now, across his shoulders and throat like a lamprey, a bottom dweller, drinking his fear-sweat and
leaving a trail of shimmering moisture, marking him, dehumanizing, property, if another dog sniffed around it would smell
her, it would smell her, and if it was clever it would turn tail and run. Claws hooked the ruined robe at his waist, hand
slithered beneath and he bucked, he screamed, she had him, she was touching him, holding him, calculating fingers playing
him like an instrument, her conductor the demon that seethed in her eyes.

�I knew you�d like it,� and she sneered triumphantly, too easy, too simple, he hardhardening in her grasp, and his teeth
drew blood from his lip, staining, precious, and she kissed it away as he mourned the death of his innocence. �Tell me you
like it,� she demanded and his larynx was broken, his lungs could not take in the air to fold around the words, the words,
but if he was good would she stop hurting him? He was an excellent student, he worked hard for his teachers, and his eyes
were crushed closed as he tried to deny the betrayal of his body.

Gloating over her prize, she ripped the robe from his slender thighs, leaving him fully exposed, helpless, man-child
pinned up against cold gray stone like a martyr and she hadn�t even begun to crucify him yet. �Tell . . . me . . .
you . . . like . . .it,� flat and frozen, icy lake filled with the soundless cries of thosappeapped beneath, the world was
full of victims and what difference did one more make? One so pretty, one with this feverish skin and black, frantic eyes,
this jet-colored hair tumbling wildly over sweat-beaded pale shoulders, lovely face a poor mask over the pain and
humiliation and hurt, so gorgeous, how could she not indulge her appetite for corruption?

�You would make a beautiful corpse,� she whispered and he started - a threat, a promise, and he, rich with potential,
thrown into the gutter and left to lie there like a broken doll? �I would remove your shroud like I removed your robe -
I�ll destroy anything that stands between us. Do you like to hear that? Does it make you hot? I�d pull you out of the grave
and fuck you - on the coffin lid, in the morgue, at the funeral. You�ll belong to me even after you�re dead.�

His head whipped from side to side, frantic denial, please no, sanity running through his fingers like the sands of time,
her hand between his legs, working, working, shameful pleasure and nauseated disgust mingling, his head full of coffins,
his eyes full of graves and she squeezed, drawing a ragged scream from his raw throat, squeezed and his narrow hips thrashed,
a fish willing to tear out it�s own vital organs if it could just escape the hook.

�Do . . . you . . . like . . . it?� Enticing again, connoisseur, making him throb, pulse, need, seethe, self-loathing
seeping under his skin and he knew that after tonight there would not be enough soap and hot water in the world to make
him clean again, to restore what she stole from him with every stroke. Nothing, degraded, worthless, plaything, body aching
for release, burn, shudder, thrust, the world disappearing in white noise as the hormonal cocktail sizzled in his veins.

�Your cock likes it,� she said derisively, �And if you don�t want me to rip it off your body, you�ll answer me.�

Dead eyes, black, bottomless, pain receding, the prize student shrieking as he plummeted into oblivion, a beautiful puppet
in his place, wooden lips piloted from outside his body forming words he didn�t hear, what she wanted to hear, hair hanging
down, no inflection. Empty.

�I like it.�

Claws bit into his shoulder and the burnt-out eyes met hers wearily. It did not matter if this ended now or if it went on
forever, if she took his pale throat in her hands and squeezed, if she eviscerated him and fucked his remains. �I like it,
what?� she hissed.

�I like it, Professor Acantha.� and something deep within him shattered, broken, beyond redemption, body moving against her
blasphemous caress of it�s own volition and he felt nothing, nothing, nothing. For the first time, he knew how easy it
would be to die.

�You were always such a clever student, and clever students get their reward,� Acantha said, far down a dark and terrible
tunnel, amethyst eyes nearly flirtatious and she knelt on his robes as she took him into the black cavern of her mouth.
Hot silk, velvet tongue, the faint hint of teeth, lips working, working, and he melted into her, gave up, gave in, was
consumed. Dignity gone, no virtue, no emotion, he shamelessly thrust against her, eager, filthy, hands tangled in her
satiny yellow hair,vingving her face into the smooth skin of his belly, her teeth painful against his pubic bone.

Groaning, her jaw distended, and her little toy was like a madman, wordless wails spiraling from his mouth, chest flushed,
head thrown back in a rictus of agonized pleasure, fists clenched in her hair, vein pulsing in his forehead, and she
clenched his hips, increasing their rhythm, sucking hard, demanding.

He gave her what she wanted. His body curved back in an agonized arch, buried to the hilt, muscles of her throat caressing
as she swallowed. Convulsion after convulsion, endless, and it hurt to climax this hard, hurt to enjoy this so much, hurt.

She pulled away violently and he was on the floor, on his robes, body still shivering with the aftermath of what had
happened, unaware of the tears seeping from beneath his eyelids. He thought of home, of warm places, of safety and sanity,
of sanctuary and hope, and always, always, of the Lion Prince. All these seemed lost to him now.

�Get up,� she ordered, but the man-child coiled on the floor did not respond. Her lips were aching from his frenzied attack,
her body growling with desire, and her pretty victim was curling into a fetal ball of misery. �Get up or I�ll make you get
up! Stop playing the puling wretch.� Silver-gray robes of the finest silk puddled at her feet, cold light playing over bare
breast and thigh. �We�re not finished yet, Mister Snape.�

On his back, the ceiling distant and misty, the empty place where his heart was filling with ice. Her words, burrowing into
his skull and gnawing, but he didn�t care, he didn�t care. The world was full of treachery and danger, the world would
devour him at one time or another, he was fatalistic, dissolving, nothing, dust. He rose to his feet.

�There,� she said soothingly, cloyingly, but her eyes were slits of cruel mirth, �I did you no lasting harm, did I Mister
Snapep>
p>

He raised his eyes to her cold, unclothed form, and knew the real harm was yet to come.

Lion Prince Interlude

I never believed in angels, despite what my Uncle said, odd creature of the Word of God with Wand in hand, �Believe in
Angels,� he told me, human-like creatures with haloes and wings, guardians and miracle workers, sacred, a soul entrusted
to each of them, theirs to guard and to cherish. Oh how contemptuous I was � an angel sounded like nothing so much as an
Elemental made palatable for the lower-thinking life forms, as if a spirit imbued with such power would stoop to guard
magicians and Muggles alike � ridiculous, and I mocked him, mocked his beliefs, and he smiled, saddened perhaps, but told
me that my Angel would guard me still. Strong, how strong I was then, a child who needed no protection, a parentless
near-man, made beautiful by arrogance and confidence. How could I have known that Angels do exist?

When I first saw him, truly saw him, I did not know it, could not have imagined it, I studied, worked, kept my head down,
would show them all, then it happened in my First Year, a bolt of lightening from the pure blue sky, how could I have
been so very blind, so very deaf? but when the Revelation came, I was galvanized. All this time, an Angel in our midst,
in my House, sleeping so near my bed, an Angel, and they are not so benevolent as my Uncle would have me believe, they are
fey, they are strange, they are wholly un-human, but they are so very sacred in the same breath.

Listen, for this is how it happened � walking through the shadowed halls that bordered the courtyard, in between classes,
head down, arms heavy with Moste Potent Potions, already known more than half by heart, lost in my own world, my small
world, my unaware world, I heard laughter, heard voices, the helpless rage of one tormented by those more powerful than
himself, I looked, I listened, I saw. A Gryffindor, one, I know now, of my age, with curly hair and a volcanic temper,
trapped by a few of the older members of my House. I could not hear the conversation, for it was hushed, kept private,
but I saw a slender, beautiful, Slytherin hand reach forth and caress the bare throat of Gry Gryffindor trapped against
the wall. Beautiful, possessive hand, and I wondered how it would feel on my flesh, and I followed hand to wrist to robed
arm to strong shoulder, to elegant throat, to flawless face framed by already-long hair the color of winter sunlight,
followed it, saw it and hungered, heard the cold, ringing laughter, the brilliant eyes alight with the joy of combat as
the other Gindoindors burst upon the scene to protect their comrade. To their credit, the First Year Gryffindors tore
into the Sixth and Seventh Year Slytherins with absolutely no fear. A flurry of curses and fists, a few landing, most
not, and both parties scattered, the beautiful one somehow sensing my presence and heading my way, him and him alone,
and a tidal wave of conflicting emotions overwhelmed me: run, stay, step aside, speak, remain silent, but for the most
a voice beating in my head like a breaking heart, expressing desire for something I could not name: oh please, oh
please, oh please . . .

He swept past me, yet somehow caught me in his arms and pulled me into the shadows, the two of us pressed together
against the wall. �No telling what they�ll do if they catch you,� he leaned down and breathed into my ear, and his
scent haunts me to this day,s mos moment, this nightmare, his scent, like sunlight and snow, some exotic cologne and
laughter, �You weren�t a part of it, but I doubt they�ll care.�

�I could have been a part of it,� I murmured, and I had to tip back my head to gaze into his holy face, and the universe
opened unto me as he stared into my eyes for the first time and I beheld heaven. I forgot how to breath, how to think,
how to speak, those cold, silver eyes weighing me and measuring me, soothing the fevered edges of my soul while consuming
me with more heat I c I could ever haonsionsidered possible � who knew that ice could burn?

�Snape,� he said it quietly, a drop of clear water into the silence between us, and there was something there, something
more than a mere schoolboy recitation of another�s name, and I wondered if my name had ever crossed his lips before,
if he had mentioned me, if our proximity had impressed itself upon his brain or if he had been carrying on as oblivious
as I, �Snape,� he repeated, and touched my cheek with those delicate fingers, my soul in flames, consumed, owned, where
had he been all my life, the past few months, how could I have never noticed him before now? But he was noticed, noticed
never to be ignored again, filling my world, overwhelming my senses, and I closed my eyes, let myself sink into the wall
behind me, let him own me. �Oh,� he breathed, sensing my submission, my immediate hunger for him, I, the proud one,
who has never shown desire for anyone or anything, I, the Raven Prince, the dark devourer of souls who even the
Seventh Years will not cross, I, untouchable and desired, moved by none, my name, my family name, tumbled from his
lips and he owned me.

Like a great, stalking cat, he moved in, we call him the Lion Prince here, a silly little kingdom invented by our
House, but I allow them my title and concede that his is well chosen, for he stalks, and he moves in close, his breath
like peppermint, and I adore him, adore him, worship him from the core of my being, so sudden, this longing, this moment,
but I am not afraid.

His mouth grazes the corner of mine, his hands caressing my then-short hair, �Do you feel it?� he asks, excited and awed
as I am, �Do you feel this?�

�Oh yes,� I breathe.

�What is it? What is happening?� He takes my hand and brings it to his own hair, making me stretch up to my toes and draw
nearer to him, and he lets the silken strands of palest gold pour through my fingers, and I have felt the ghost of this
sensation ever since, �What is happening?�

�I�m Severus,� I whispered to him, and he shudders, body pressed tight to mine, and we are trembling, cing ing to one
another, something altogether more than two boys in sudden lust, something greater, something fated.

�I know,� he murmurs, lowering his head to press his lips against my mouth, �I�ve always known, I think,� and he means
so much more than my name, whispering those words into my soul.

I too, know much, and know it well, and though I never want to let him go, I must. �This was an accident,� I tell him
softly, �It�s too soon.�

�How can it be?� he asks, �I came to you � didn�t you see that? I knew you were in the shadows. I ran straight to you.�

�I know. And I want you.�

As I said it, understanding dawned in his eyes. �But not yet.�

�Not yet,� I agreed. Even now, I am not sure that we truly understood what we meant, what happened between us on that
fated morning, but I treasure the memory, and hold it close, for it my only se, me, my only sanctuary in the madness of
my existence.

�Remember this!� he demanded, lion-eyes blazing, and I nodded, too lost in those eyes to find words to speak. He drew
away, looked me from head to toe, my desire mirrored in him, his hair trickling through my fingers, and he touched his
face, shook his head, �Must I walk away now?� and I wanted one kiss, one touch, but any more than had just transpired
would be far to much, would unravel the delicate threads already beginning to bind us.

�Yes,� and the word choked me, �But you must remember this as well.�

�Always,� he vowed, turned to go, face grave with the Mystery suddenly presented to us, the meeting of soul to soul when
we were too young to have even known infatuation, then he whirled back around, held me close, pressed burning lips to my
throat, stroked my hair one last time. �Grow it long for me,� he demanded, �Grow it long, so I�ll know you remember.�

�I will,� I promised, and he was gone, leaving me confused, aimless, book forgotten on the ground, unsure if what I had
just experienced was real. An interlude with an Angel, a glorious Angel, the existence of a Presence greater than
myself, than my being, binding me whole to a creature of legend, a wild and glorious creature, how could be that I,
earthbound and made of clay, could be fated for this beauteous thing of ice and fire? Not all Angels have wings,
I thought, somve hve hair like winter sunlightth eth eyes like the frozen sea. Lucius, Lucius, my only, my light,
someday, when we are ready, the world will cower at our feet.

Someday - if I survive.
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Harm