The voice under all silences. Chapter 3

[pekeleke]

THE VOICE UNDER ALL SILENCES. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Severus?" There was someone calling him. "Severus?" Who on Earth could it be? "Severus?” The voice seemed annoyingly familiar, almost as if he was used to hearing it all the time or had done so reasonably often in the recent past.

Severus frowned. Why would someone have come down to wake him? Had he forgotten to set up his alarm charm? Was he late for class already? Panic seized him and his arms flailed as he attempted to rouse himself, and found his movements confined by a tangle of bed sheets.

"SEVERUS!"

His eyes opened. Brilliant sunlight burned his pupils as he blinked weakly—far too weakly for his taste. Where the Hell was he? These were not his dungeons. Wait. That wasn't right—He he wasn't meant to be in the dungeons, was he? There were no dungeons anymore.

Hogwarts. Hogwarts had fallen! He'd been forced to open the wards to the Death Eaters and the castle had been invaded. He'd allowed his precious home to be conquered, besmirched. He'd been forced to leave in disgrace. Minerva. Minnie had finally given up on him. She'd tried to kill him. She hated him now. They all hated him. He'd been unmasked as a traitor-

"Severus?"

Severus looked up through black eyes that were shrouded with utter pain and searched for the owner of that strangely familiar voice, eager to discover the identity of whoever still felt the deserved the kindness of a gentle awakening.

"Severus, is the light hurting your eyes?" The question caught him unawares because it was truly unexpected, undeserved and so caring… His brow furrowed and he blinked something fierce, trying to force his dilated pupils into early contraction in an effort to see more than flashes of bright shadows. The legs of some kind of heavy chair dragged noisily across the floor. Granite and wood colliding in screeching, ear-cringing disharmony.

Footsteps echoed around the room and then he heard the loud twinkling of heavy rings running across metal. A curtain, then, was being closed on his behalf. Soothing darkness flooded his reeling senses and his eyes opened wider as his head turned. There was a man standing by the window. Swirling shadows frustratingly silhouetted his form, due to the orange-tinged light that was attempting to break in from behind the beige barrier of the still fluttering curtains. The room was uncannily similar to the infirmary at Hogwarts, and a pang of deeply pained longing closed down Severus’ throat with a thick knot.

“Is this any better, Severus?" The voice, the man, the words themselves distracted him from his gloomy thoughts and Severus focused his gaze on that shadowed form.

"Where...? Who...?" His raspy-toned questions halted as suddenly as his gaze recognized the red clothes, the golden buttons, the utilitarian tool-filled belt, the potions pouch, the prominently displayed wand-holder fastened along the length of the man's left forearm. "An Auror. You are an Auror."

"Yes."

Such simple answer. So... unbending. So unequivocal and final. Severus shivered in response, fingers curling into fists as he attempted to analyze what was wrong here. Something rubbed him the wrong way about it all, making him suspicious and forcing him to frown. "Aurors don't usually call me Severus" He muttered to himself, unwittingly following his muddled thoughts out loud. "They tend to growl my surname like a foul insult."

It was then that he remembered: the war had finally broken. The Dark Lord was no more and he himself had been—His hand shot up to his neck, searching for the foul and dirty bandages he remembered being there and finding them exactly where he expected them to be. Only the pain he associated with their presence was absent now, dulled by the blessed properties of one healing potion or another. "Where is Peterssen?" Severus dared to ask the most important question of them all. It was imperative to know at once when his viciously vindictive carer would be allowed to strike again.

The Auror's stand became rigid and he barked. "Peterssen is gone."

Wariness settled over Severus like a thick and overused blanket when the tone of barely restrained violence the other man had used registered with him. He became suddenly aware of the fact that he was alone, unarmed, obviously at the mercy of some seriously pissed off Auror who seemed to hate his guts.

"When is he expected to return?" Severus asked cautiously, politely, willing to offer some courtesy in order to get the answer he desired with the least amount of pain. The Auror's right hand twitched in an instinctive, wrathful lunge towards his wand-holder that was consciously halted mid-motion, and Severus felt his heart plummet to his feet. So this was the answer to the stupid question he'd been constantly asking himself these last few weeks. This man, so easily angered, so firmly entrenched in the self-righteousness that usually came hand in hand with the uniform he wore, was much worse than Peterssen.

"That waste of magic is not going to come back, Severus. Not here. Not ever. And definitely nowhere near you." The tone warred so much with the man's actual words that Severus scowled. He became uncertain. Uneasy. Afraid.

"Why do you insist on calling me by my given name?"

A shrug of powerful shoulders seemed to be the only answer the Auror was in the mood to provide. The slight lowering of the man’s head drew Severus’ attention to a wild mop of short, dark hair. And the nervous scrape of a leather boot against the stone floor reminded him vaguely of someone, even though he couldn’t quite yet pinpoint who.

"It's your name, isn’t it? I once met a man who used to call you by it all the time."

Severus felt himself pale. Angry color rose along the sharp edges of his cheekbones and he took a fortifying breath before he had the strength to force himself to answer that taunting accusation without breaking. "I murdered that man."

Surprisingly, the resentful array of hexes he'd been expecting failed to materialize and Severus floundered in confusion when a heartbroken sort of chuckle arrived in their place. "I know that."

Severus blinked, taken aback, before inclining his head in as curt and dismissive a motion as he could possibly make it. "Yes. I've heard it’s common knowledge by now."

Silence.

Seconds faded into minutes and a sudden, oppressive tension began to take hold of Severus. He wished the other man would act already, reveal his purpose for being here and, then, well—get on with it, for Merlin's sake! Actual violence always turned out to be far less frightening than the thought of it, in Severus’ experience. He held fast to the conviction that the sooner the stranger started to unload all that hatred that seemed to be overflowing his athletic form, the sooner he'd leave Severus alone. At least until the next time.

"Do you remember the war?"

The question caught Severus unaware. It peeled away several layers of his protective armor and poked holes in the crumbling shield he was using to keep himself away from true harm. The very same shield that he had no intention whatsoever of pushing aside anytime soon. Not in front of another bitter enemy, in any case.

"I remember dying." Severus responded acidly. Scornfully. With such powerful hatred giving life to those bitter three words that it was a shame how his voice rasped them pathetically instead of snarling them virulently into the expectant silence. Severus had not anticipated the full-body flinch that shook the other man’s frame, nor had he expected the startled exhalation of air that exploded from the Auror's throat like a gasp being suppressed.

"I'm sorry!"

Those two words shattered Severus’ composure completely. He had not been prepared to hear them. Could not imagine why his very unwelcome visitor would even bother to pronounce them unless they were meant to mock him. "You should be. It didn't work very well."

Severus was shocked by the sudden flash of uncontrolled, powerful magic that shook every wall in the room with the force of an earthquake in response to his statement. "Don't say that. Do. Not. Ever. Say. That!"

Severus frowned in alarmed recognition of that sullen, demanding tone. "Potter?"

Worryingly the Auror didn't deny that crazy notion. His wide shoulders squared. His head shock just once in curt, almost challenging assent before a few firmly taken steps brought him closer, finally out of the gloomy range of shadows cast in the vicinity of the drawn curtains and into Severus' viewing range. "I'm sorry, professor. I failed to realize you hadn't recognized me."

Potter’s green eyes locked with his own and Severus felt the god-awful touch of Legilimency. "Do not dare!" he snarled viciously, turning his head brusquely to one side in order to avoid being breached. His shields felt weak and ready to crumble though, and he supposed that the damned sickness that had plagued him since he woke was managing to undermine his usual mental strength, much in the same way as it was weakening him physically.

The boy had the grace to flush and a pair of slightly trembling hands rose in the air, palms out, in a soothing and apologetic gesture. "I’m sorry! It's not my fault. I’m finding it really hard to keep you out while you’re so weak."

Severus' hackles rose. He detested the very idea of this-this pathetic little whelp finding him wanting in any way. "What the hell do you want, Potter?" he tried to roar, deciding to attack the brat as viciously as he possibly could in the hopes of sending him away. The boy flinched and his wide green eyes flashed with bitter wariness as that unfamiliarly mature voice muttered darkly.

"Godric! Tell me we’re not going through all that again."

Severus frowned. "Again?" he repeated that puzzling word stupidly. Bewildered despite himself into demanding some sort of explanation from the little irritant.

Potter's tone could have killed Dementors when he replied coldly: "We've done this before, Professor. Don't you remember? I was the worst nightmare you’d ever had."

A tension headache began to unfurl behind Severus’ right eye as he attempted -and failed- to make sense of that cryptic statement. "I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, Potter, but if we ignore for the moment the fact that you usually manage to irritate me right to the very edge of murder, I must point out that you have always fallen quite short of the threshold that would turn one of my dreams from merely unpleasant into the actual realms of nightmare, let alone one of my worst."

"Oh! Mmhm—Really?" Puzzlingly, the tension that had been ready to snap Potter’s wide shoulders in two suddenly vanished and incoherence returned to the flushed, unfamiliar face of this grown version of the child who had, against Severus’ every expectation, managed to actually live.

"How did you do it, Potter?" Severus dared to venture that one question in the quiet moment between one of the boy's owlish blinks and the next, figuring that he might as well get the answer to one of the millions of questions that had been circling his mind incessantly since he'd woken up to discover himself trapped within the cursed walls of Azkaban's infirmary.

Potter's expression gentled and he approached, almost as if he was willing to satisfy whatever little point Severus' legendary curiosity could be bothered to address. "How did I do what, Sir?"

Severus swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with the foreign emotion that was turning the child's voice so grave. His entire frame stiffened in unfavorable reaction to the unnerving closeness of the imposing Auror who was now towering over him. "Survive. How did you survive? Albus-" Severus managed to utter his beloved mentor’s name but had no strength to continue. Not so soon after re-awaking. Not while in the company of one of the very few people who'd been present on that tower the night he'd performed the most heinous of his crimes. His nostrils flared violently, jaw locked into unyielding rigidity by the strength of his own emotions. His eyes searched -and found- the fluttering edges of the beige-colored curtains and fastened to them as if he'd find in their uninteresting blandness the eternally sought-after spark of knowledge that could finally explain the very origins of Magic.

"It's alright to miss him, Severus. He misses you too."

"Do not speak of Albus to me." Severus attempted to growl the words and was utterly embarrassed when his shattered throat only managed to produce a wavering snarl that in no way managed to reflect his all-pervading resentment. Potter's expression hardened like steel and a silence that was long, heavy and as poisonous as Mercury built impregnable walls between them in the blink of an eye.

After a minute or two of hard, huffy staring the Auror sighed, seemingly tired of the status quo. "I survived because the Horcrux I carried was weaker than I was. There was only one Avada Kedavra. Only one life that could be taken. It came down to a choice between the single, mangled, piece of the Dark Lord's soul that my scar was harboring or the whole of mine.”

Severus' eyes widened in sudden -and relieved- understanding. "So the curse took the easiest way out. They tend to do that. It's one of the basic principles of Magic. New hex creation revolves around the idea."

A small smile curved the boy's lips. "That's what I've been told. Yes."

A wave of bone-melting relief washed over Severus’ mind as he pondered the thought in the ensuing quiet. He had to close his eyes tightly in order to ride out the grateful joy that threatened to overwhelm him ant the thought that Albus—Albus must have at the very least suspected the possibility of this outcome. Dear Salazar! He, himself, should have realized the potential right away. He had the knowledge, after all, had used it constantly over the years as he pandered to his insatiable need for independence. For self-protection. Tirelessly developing self-protective curses that only he had access to.

"Severus?"

Severus’ thoughts came to an abrupt halt as Potter’s voice suddenly reminded him of the boy's presence. His eyes narrowed in horrified suspicion when an even more awful question rose to the forefront of his mind. One that Peterssen had repeatedly refused to answer every time he'd dared to ask it. "How did I survive, Potter? I remember dying!"

Potter’s green eyes dulled with some kind of deep-set regret that Severus found disturbing. "That wasn't me, professor. I wish to Merlin it had been, but the truth is that I failed you completely on that account. It was Draco who saved you. He heard me accusing Voldermort of killing you and set off to find your body. You were barely alive when he reached you, and he was wandless, but he—Oh, God! Turns out he is as clever as you always claimed he was, and he has an affinity with your wand that allowed him to cast that all-important stasis spell. We would have lost you, just... lost you, if it wasn't for Draco.”

Severus was taken aback by the depth of feeling that drenched every single syllable of Potter’s response. The realization of exactly how upset Potter would have felt at being deprived of the opportunity to see him rot in Azkaban for his transgressions brought a sudden lump of ice to Severus’ dark heart. Surely, certainly, his demise should have been a fitting punishment. Unless, of course, The Powers That Be agreed with Potter and considered the death of a traitor far to be too merciful a fate for the likes of him. Severus’ head lowered in shame. His pulse pounded against his wrists with enough force to break him, and he guessed he must have finally reached the lowest point in his life. "Potter" he whispered the Auror's name with exhausted, defeated resignation. Thoroughly ignoring the sharp, startled widening of those steadily darkening green eyes as he glared at them. "What do you want from me, Potter? Why are you here? How are you planning to make me pay for the unforgivable?"

There was a startled growl of pure, unadulterated anger. A foreboding narrowing of those emerald colored eyes and then the boy threw his hands up in the air in a sharp and frustrated gesture. "See? I told them this would be a damned waste of time!"

Severus didn't know what to make of that sentence. He didn't care enough to bother unveiling its convoluted nuances. He was tired. He was broken. He wanted to be left alone with his own misery.

His fists closed in a reflexively defensive motion when the boy strode suddenly close, angry challenge turning the clean lines of his young features into a stony mask of unfathomable feeling. "What would you say, Snape, if I told you that I've come to understand that you were Albus' greatest weapon? One far better than I, myself, turned out to be? One without which the side of the Light would have failed miserably to win the blasted war?"

‘What the hell...?’ “Do not mock me, Potter." Severus snarled so viciously that the child froze were he stood. Green eyes that were so painfully similar to Lily's searched his angry features for a heartbeat too long before the Auror's shoulders sagged with frustrated defeat.

"Why would I mock you? You, who saved my bloody life more times than I can count? Why would I want to humiliate the man who saved most of us, at one point or another, for God's sake?"

Severus didn't much care for the tone Potter was using to speak—no, to scream at him, rather. He was being treated as if he were some kind of dim nincompoop who was utterly unable to even grasp the most elemental of truths. He was not going to allow this nonsensical drivel to irritate him into giving this jerk the perfect excuse to pound him into next month that he was so clearly searching for. "So I saved your life and now you'd like to repay my kindness by visiting my glorious bed-side in Azkaban. You’ve come to gloat at my discomfort. This is unexpected even for you, Potter. Such exquisitely devious revenge doesn't normally capture the imagination of the run-of-the-mill Gryffindor, but then one mustn't forget that you were never truly prone to follow the rules.”

The idiot's eyes goggled and he gasped in outraged denial of Severus’ accusation but Severus was honestly past caring. His eyes had narrowed like poisoned black darts and his lips spilled nothing but pure hatred into the pulsing, tense silence. "Nothing you can ever dream of doing to me will touch me, Oh, Great Saviour. Not. One. Bloody. Thing. You are naught but an unimaginative little worm, lacking the true mastery of those who took pains to train me in the fine art of torture, boy! You think you can come to my sick bed and frighten me to death? You couldn't possibly be any more pretentious, Harry Potter." Severus laughed so coldly, so harshly, that the rugged Auror's face first paled, then crumbled in under a second.

"Y-you think that I'd...? Severus, I-”

“Do not do me the discourtesy of using my given name without permission.” Severus snapped. “That privilege was never meant for enemies of any kind."

Green eyes, puzzlingly darkened to the very edge of unutterable pain, flickered as the boy blinked oh-so-carefully, using the same kind of deliberate caution that Draco had tended to employ during his late teens whenever he was attempting to prevent himself from crying in front of Severus. "You may have been mine at one point but I was never your enemy, Professor. Not really. I was your mark all along, wasn't I? I'm the reason you remained alive after she died. I’m the reason why you plodded on at Hogwarts, through year after year of teaching children you had no desire to instruct, always biding your time and keeping up old friendships with the darkest characters of our world. I was never your enemy, Severus Snape, but I was yours to hate. You made me yours to protect and yours to devote yourself to. You made me yours to die for, because that's how SHE died, and you couldn't let go of her for long enough to try fighting for your own happy ending. You never planned on surviving. Oh, no. You wanted to die just like she did. You wanted to leave me—leave us all behind without so much as a by your leave, you, coward!"

Bile rose up the back of Severus’ throat with every snarled word that the blasted creature dared to utter. With every single second that he forced his dark eyes to remain locked onto the emerald twins of his beloved Lily's. With every painful truth currently being so rudely exposed, so painfully dragged out into the uncomfortable sunlight. Severus had never detested anyone with as much venom as he despised the man before him now. His entire frame had frozen into utter rigidity within the very first seconds of that brutally cruel dissection of his most precious feelings and desires. He felt wronged and abused, thoroughly sickened by the idea that this-this bitter grown-up version of the child he'd once protected was able to read the very depths of his dark heart so accurately.

"I despise you, Harry Potter." Severus spoke the words quietly, clearly, with the kind of conviction usually reserved for the basic truths of life: One's name. One's love. One's faith. He saw the Auror's face pale as if he'd been struck by the deadliest of blows, and that emerald colored gaze darkened minutely before dulling with the empty shadows of despair. Severus registered the visible shudder that ran along the rigid frame of the man who stood so belligerently not five paces away from the foot of his bed, and also noticed how the golden-toned skin covering Potter’s young throat contracted jerkily once before expanding slowly around the boy's Adam Apple, as if he were attempting to swallow whole the very sword of Gryffindor.

"I knew that too, professor." Potter finally said, and that wasn't the answer Severus had been expecting to hear. Not the words themselves, not the irking neutrality of the boy's tone, and definitely not the strangely restrained quality of the shockingly intense emotion they seemed to be—hiding? Hinting at?

Severus’ ebony eyes narrowed suspiciously before raking the rest of the room in a useless bid to distract himself from his own puzzlement. He wanted this ordeal to be over, wanted this bizarre conversation brought to an end. Wanted this pathetically predictable episode of—revenge? Spite? Good, old-fashioned, psychological torture? to be done with so he could gather the memory and shove it in the darkest corner of his mind already.

There was silence for a long time as Severus searched the utilitarian room for some kind of clue as to where exactly in Azkaban he might have been taken to, but the place was so disconcertingly similar to the Hogwarts' infirmary that he wrestled once again with the kind of wrath that could very easily consume the damned child, if Severus so much as spoke another word.

Albus—Albus would have been so disappointed. Severus’ beloved mentor had defended and pampered his precious Gryffindors with such zeal, had allowed Severus himself to become so utterly disillusioned with the kind of world Albus had wanted to create -one where the secret of a lion could be allowed to outweigh the safety of any snake- and all of that for what? Albus would have died of shame all over again if he were here, witnessing the unprecedented cruelty that Severus was being currently subjected to by the greatest lion of them all: his precious Golden Hero. The Boy with the Power of Love. What utter tripe that had turned out to be-

Delicate twinkling interrupted Severus’ gloomy thoughts and he turned his head towards his captor once again. Potter was holding an empty bottle in his right hand, the left one curled around a squat glass that contained barely a mouthful of a liquid with the color of sunlight. Severus tensed. He despised men who drank at any hour, deeply resented those who did it while still angry, and definitely couldn't abide anyone who'd dare to indulge in the harmful sin of alcohol this early in the morning for any reason at all.

“I want you to remember that I tried!” Potter growled that thoroughly bewildering sentence in a tone as hard as bricks before tilting his glass up and drinking its content in a single swallow. Severus could not quite quash the sense of dread that had suddenly gripped him, his dark eyes widened with terror even as they fixed tensely on the strong lines of Potter's features. All kinds of crazy thoughts began to whirl in his mind as he followed the arch of Potter’s wide hand as it lowered until the glass it held thudded against the surface of a table. ‘It's one drink, Severus. Just one drink.’ He reminded himself firmly while his gaze remained riveted to the sight Potter’s hand with the sort of sickened, focused attention he couldn’t shake off. ‘One drink alone can't turn a man into a monster like your father. One drink alone won't incite Potter to hurt you. He has no need of liquid courage to-’

"Do you know where Draco Malfoy is right now, Severus?" The unexpected question brought cold chills to Severus’ clammy skin and he blinked very slowly, very carefully, trying to remember what he'd learned about his precious godchild, courtesy of healer Peterssen.

"I haven't seen him, if that is your question, Auror Potter. Why? Has the boy become Azkaban's latest gaoler?" There! He'd sounded harsh and uninterested enough that no one would ever guess the agony of worry that had started gripping his entrails as soon as he’d heard Potter’s brutally asked question.

The Auror laughed cynically. A cold and calculating light had now entered the emerald depths of his unnervingly intense gaze. "Amazing!" The boy whispered in bitterly mocking wonderment and started clapping into the ever-increasing tension that was steadily filling the room. "Four years locked into a magical coma that would have fried not only the instincts, but also most of the memories of every other wizard, and you still have it in you to lie to my face like the scoundrel you are."

Severus turned to stone upon hearing that accusation. That Arctic tone and the spiteful disdain Potter’s harsh words were so clearly trying to convey. His dark, and now carefully blank, eyes settled once again upon the empty glass, wondering how it was possible for such a small mouthful to have so drastically turned around Potter’s demeanor in a matter of mere minutes, transforming him from outraged baboon to belligerent, cold-blooded shark in the blink of an eye. Potter followed his gaze and smiled darkly. "So I've finally gained your attention, haven't I, professor? Now I want to secure something different, something far more precious. You see, I desire to obtain your cooperation."

Severus shuddered. There was something not quite right with this little scenario. Potter—Potter was acting out of character. Everything was wrong, discordant. Potter’s every word, the tone of his voice, even the frozen quality of his emerald colored gaze seemed false, somehow. Utterly fragile. Severus was certain he was missing something rather important. Something obvious, but he couldn't for the life of him grasp what that elusive something might be. "I’m afraid I do not follow."

The small smile that bloomed on Potter’s young face in response to Severus’ admission of confusion was brittle and hard. Merciless. "You. Do. Not. Follow.”

A shiver ran down Severus' spine as Potter’s frigid answer coiled around him like a promise of death. His hands closed in two fists, white-knuckled and impotent, bereft of a wand to hold on to. "What would you say, Severus, if I told you that you've been uncannily right all along, as usual?" Potter crooned.

Severus’ pale lips compressed into a thin, almost invisible slash as he attempted to control his growing temper. "Why don't you get to the bloody point, Potter? I’ve had conversations with muggle wallpaper that were more enlightening than this!" he snapped in a frustrated, angry snarl that brought a bewilderingly satisfied little smile to the bloody brat's mouth.

"I’m concerned about the fact that you won't get the punishment you really deserve in Azkaban, Severus Snape."

Inky colored blankness stared straight into the Auror’s youthful features and saw only hatred. "We've covered this ground already, Mr. Potter. You are allowed to skip along to the parts not yet discussed. Endless dissertations on the nature of revenge tend to be distasteful, if you'd care for my opinion."

Potter frowned and hung his head, looking rather lost for just a second. Then his wild mop of hair jerked upright, almost as if it had been pulled by some sort of invisible string, and those eyes, so green, so familiar, speared him with renewed determination. "I decided long ago that I’d be the man who'd give you your just desserts, professor."

"So you’ve have come to kill me after all." Severus said calmly. He even managed to produce a tired smile for the little brat, unable as he was to mask his relief upon learning what was soon to be his fate. He was saddened by the fact that they all had been so wrong about the boy, though. Albus and Lily would have been devastated by this. Minnie and Rubeus would be utterly heartbroken if they ever found out. Severus only hoped that Potter had the good sense to cover his own tracks. He'd be glad to take this secret to his grave, if it meant that those two would never learn that he—he'd been right all along about this creature, hadn’t he? There was far more of his dreadful father inside Potter than anyone had dared to imagine.

A strange brightness transformed the boy's eyes into glittering green jewels. "Death is not what you deserve." Potter said softly and Severus faltered then, feeling wrong-footed. His gaze shot black daggers at the Auror's deadly pale face.

"What do I deserve then, boy? Flagellation? Dismemberment? A public stoning?" He challenged the brat with savage brutality. Potter looked positively sick. Strangely feverish. Unexpectedly detached from the situation and, at the same time, weirdly focused. He took a frantic, sudden, step forward before halting the motion abruptly, then turned his face away to stare towards the door with a thunderous frown. Potter seemed to be fighting some kind of inner demon and Severus felt relieved to see that for even though they had all been mainly wrong about the boy, there seemed to be at least a smidgen of conscience behind that ruthless façade.

"I want to have complete control over you, Snape. I want you to live with me. Sleep where I tell you. Eat the food I give you. I want you to work only on what I see fit, control who you speak to, what you do, who you become. I want you as powerless as I was while in your care. As powerless as Albus Dumbledore himself was left while his wand hovered in mid-air and, instead of coming to his aid, you cast the deadliest curse upon his person.”

Potter’s vicious words hit Severus like the lash of sudden Crucio and he felt them fall across his soul like deathly blows. The most terribly tight knot closed his throat down. His eyes smarted and a painful, awful shame threatened to swallow him whole. "Do you think you can match me for cruelty, Potter?" He sneered in defensive retaliation, challenging the bastard to back down with every single ounce of determination in his possession. He had to force the brat into retreat before one of them was harmed beyond repair. "You have the heart of a hero, or so I’ve been told. Nothing you can possibly come up with can damage me more than it would damage you. Your morals will know sin. Your soul will become tainted. Your very sense of self will twist out of recognition, it’ll become darkened and poisoned beyond all possibility of recovery. Am I truly worth destroying all that you are?"

Potter’s gaze finally turned away from the doorway, zeroing upon his person and pinning him to the spot with an intensity that flayed him. A young, pale face that was rigid with unyielding determination twisted viciously as Potter all but spat out the very first words he’d screamed since he took that blasted drink: "YOU ARE WORTH EVERYTHING!"

Severus’ heart pounded as that pair of crazed emerald eyes raked him from the top of his disheveled dark head to the blanket-covered legs that felt like water. He was painfully conscious of the shocked, pained sorrow he could feel raising like an unwelcome wave from the very depths of his battered heart to the forefront of his absolutely livid mind. He’d devoted his entire adult life to the single task of guaranteeing this creature's survival and the ungrateful little runt dared to imagine that Severus would allow him to throw away the very essence of the soul Lily had loved enough to die for on a cause as pointless as revenge.

"I’m afraid that my cooperation isn't on offer, Mr. Potter. I’m quite settled right here, in Azkaban. Why don't you go jump off the first cliff you come across and let me enjoy the peace and quiet of my spa retreat for a long while, eh?" He finally answered, and the sarcasm in his words was as flawless as it used to be. The delivery was a perfect combination of snarling distaste and utter disdain. Severus was proud of his own quip, even though it was perfectly obvious that the little bastard was about ready to throttle him. He allowed himself to rest his aching back against the fluffy mound of pillows that some industrious soul must have stacked up while he'd been asleep and felt so smug in his own certainty that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that the little terror could do to force his hand that he allowed a small taunting smirk to curve the edges of his thinly pressed lips. "Cat got your tongue, Potter?" Severus goaded the livid-looking Auror and felt not a spark of fear when the man took a single menacing step forward and hissed through his teeth.

"I’m not playing a stupid game with you, Snape. I'm going to get exactly what I want from you, by fair means or foul."

Severus hadn't laughed so hard in so long that he'd forgotten how utterly exhilarating the feeling could be. He felt absolutely liberated. Exquisitely free for the first time in his adult memory. He did not give a toss about how grim his situation might become after a mightily pissed off Potter stormed out of Azkaban, leaving Severus to the care of far harsher men than the brat would ever be. The important part was that for now at least, Severus could be free. He could choose his own path. He had nothing to lose, nothing to live for. He had no future to abandon. Nothing and no one to fight for anymore. His job had been done and his life now was over. And the rest—well the rest would be merely pain. Severus could take pain without even blinking. He could take it almost without feeling it, without really suffering too much from it anymore. He’d endure a few years under the tender ministrations of dear healer Peterssen and then finally, finally, join Lily and Albus. Especially Albus.

“What could you possibly threaten me with in order to convince me to submit to your cozy little scheme, eh, Potter? Do you plan to scare me with The Kiss? Do you really think I'd care?" He challenged the Auror bluntly, just because he could.

Potter's frown deepened and his eyes turned deadly when he agreed with Severus' own assessment in a tone that could flay dragons. "No. I don't think you'd care at all."

There was a second or two of incongruent reluctance as Potter’s jaw clenched tightly and he seemed to steel himself, as if readying for battle. The Auror’s forehead turned clammy with sweat and he exhaled a shaky breath before he opened his mouth and uttered the only words that could have ever turned these odds back in his favor. The only words that Severus himself had never expected to hear falling from the lips of the Wizarding World's Savior. The only words with the power to still Severus' own hand and bring him, kicking and screaming, to the exact place where this blasted bastard wanted him, kneeling like a corralled dog at his feet. "But you'd care if it was Malfoy facing the Dementor, don’t you? You'd sell your soul to me, to Voldemort, to Morgana Le Fay herself, if it was your own Godchild the one to receive The Kiss in your stead, and you had a single chance of preventing that from happening.”

TBC...

Ch2

Ch4