Pairings: Godric/Severus, Severus/Harry
Word Count: 1595
Summary: Severus has an experience in the Forbidden Forest that teaches him he no longer desires the company of oblivion.
Disclaimer: This work of fan fiction is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made from (and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by) the posting of this fan work.
Author's Note: Written for dramaphile after taking "laundry drabbles" prompts. Prompts: "Severus/Anyone: candles."
Severus dragged himself down the path, wincing as the moonlight glittered brightly against the hardened snow. His head ached from having absorbed too many hexes and he wished for oblivion, but duty would not permit him to succumb to it. Hogwarts was behind him, the Forbidden Forest, ahead, and he had a Horcrux to hide.
The sounds of the Aurors' pursuit—Good. They're following my illusions—grew dim as he at last achieved the relative safety of the wood, and the branches above him blotted out the cursed light.
He thought he heard a phoenix call then, and he shivered, fumbling for his wand.
The wand he withdrew from his robes was Gryffindor's, however, and he realized that he had dropped his own after casting his last spell, the one with which he had saved himself. It was almost too dark to see, but he did not dare make use of the ancient device.
Because that will only bring the Dark Lord down upon my head.
Resigned and frightened—for he did not know how he was going to safely hide the Horcrux now—Severus crept slowly through the trees, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. Something—Feathers?—brushed by him then, and he stumbled, biting back a stifled exclamation of dismay as he tumbled down a rough incline.
A mouldering stump stopped his progress, and Severus remained still, attempting to get his breathing—and his nerve—back under control.
I'm bleeding. My ankle's twisted. I can't see. Are those voices? he asked himself, attempting to quietly rip the edge of his robes into bandages.
Something growled, something close.
Oh gods, I'm going to die, Severus thought, crawling slowly away from the sound of the animal and hating himself for his fear. I'm going to die alone in the dark, ripped apart by some horrible creature—a werewolf?—and without having hidden the wand for Potter to find.
The creature growling drew nearer to him.
No! I don't want to die—not like this! "No! I won't die! Help! Someone help me!" Severus screamed, and an avian shriek rent the air.
Blood spattered over him then, but it was not his, and Severus quieted to listen to the sounds of flesh being pulled from bones and the horrifying death throes of a predator-turned-prey.
When it was over, he whimpered, "I can't see. It's dark, and I don't like it. Oh, please, please—I can't see. Who's there? Why is it so da—"
The light of hundreds of candles stopped his mouth, and Severus looked up to find a hand being lowered before him. He took it without considering whose it might be, and was pulled up standing to face his rescuer.
"A—Albus?" he stuttered, drawing back in sudden terror. "No! You're dead!"
"And you, my dear child, are suffering the effects of a fear curse," an older man said kindly, pulling Gryffindor's wand from Severus' nerveless fingers and aiming it at him.
Severus did not hear the spell, but, as it did its work and his eyes focused in the candlelight, he turned his eyes from the ground—and the remains strewn across it—and saw, clearly now, that he had been wrong.
"You're not Albus Dumbledore."
"No, I am not."
"Who are you?"
"Has gratitude been forgotten in these days?" the man, his hair more a fall of feathers than anything else, asked, reaching up to wipe a glistening tear from one of his eyes.
The man sighed, and lightly brushed his tear-laden fingertip against Severus' mouth before leaning down to press a kiss there. "Better?"
"Oh," Severus breathed, as a warmth such as he had never experienced infused him. "So much better. . . . Th—thank you. Is that," are you— "your wand?"
"How clever of you. Yes, yes, I believe it was, at one time. What," the man said, shaking the wand in disgust, "has happened to it?"
"The Dark Lord, he—"
Severus recoiled as what he realized were thousands of candles surrounding them flared. Merlin, I've made him angry.
"Merlin sleeps yet, Severus Snape, and I am Godric Gryffindor."
"I . . . I know that."
"Then tell me, wise one, why it is that these little men of Darkness never name themselves truly?"
"I don't understand."
"No? It's an old lesson. The school—Hogwarts?"
"Hogwarts. Yes. I remember. But is not magic and its history taught there still?"
"Then why is wizardkind yet so quick to fall to its knees? There are no lords save those to whom one elects to pledge one's allegiance," Gryffindor explained, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What was your pledge, boy?"
His heart pounding in shame and confusion, Severus whispered, "Blood."
Gryffindor blinked, and Severus' shame fell away with his clothing. "And flesh, too, if I'm not mistaken," he said, glaring at the revealed Dark Mark.
"Please, what do you want of me?"
"Why, only that you should allow me to offer you my gratitude for the return of my wand."
The air seemed to shimmer from the heat of the candles, and then Severus saw that Gryffindor was also nude, and that he, too, was hard. His body, it's not like an old man's at all, he thought, remembering Albus and shuddering with remorse and half-forgotten desire.
"Albus loved you."
"And so shall I before I rise once more," Gryffindor said, reaching for Severus and pushing him onto the bed of feathers that was materializing even as they laid down upon it.
Warm hands raised gooseflesh over Severus' skin as they caressed him, and he moaned. Albus.
"Yes," Gryffindor murmured, sliding down Severus' body to position himself between his legs, "think of your Albus, think of anyone you like, if it pleases you."
And then all Severus knew was a glorious, sucking heat; it overwhelmed him utterly.
"Oh, oh, oh!" Godric Gryffindor . . . he's sucking me . . . sucking my—"Gods!"
Gryffindor chuckled and drew the flat of his tongue up Severus' cock, giving its head a sharp suck to coax the last pulses of orgasm into his mouth. "'So much better', indeed," he whispered, rising from the bed. "Now sleep, dream of your Albus, and when you awaken, your cares shall have been lessened and your future shall be before you."
Severus dreamt—or thought he did—of an explosive, silent light, but he was too exhausted to stir himself to discover the cause of it.
It was the rain of ash which finally woke him. Brushing it away and coughing, Severus found himself resting on a bed of phoenix down and surrounded by a wide ring of wax.
Beyond the ring stood Harry Potter holding two halves of a broken, scorched wand and staring at Severus in amazement.
"Before I rise once more," Severus thought sadly, pushing himself up from his bed of down and stepping out of the circle. He felt cold and cross—and more himself than he had in some time—so he snapped, "Potter, close your mouth before you choke—and do something about this ash. I don't have my wand."
Potter blinked, and suddenly, the ash ceased to fall.
"Yes, sir," he said, licking his lips nervously and blushing.
It was then that Severus realized that he was not wearing any clothing.
"Eyes up, Mr. Potter," he ordered, flushing—though more from the obvious desire in the boy's eyes than any embarrassment on his part. Why did I never notice him looking at me like this before?
"Y—you were never n—naked before—sir," Potter stammered, averting his eyes as he shrugged off his robes and held them out for the taking.
Severus smirked. Something about the way Potter was behaving reminded him very powerfully of himself. Before I first gave myself to Albus, he thought, taking the robes and the wand shards from Potter's hands and dropping them on the ground. But Albus is gone, and . . . and my future is before me. "Look at me," Mr. Potter."
The boy did so, trembling, and asked, "How did you manage to destroy the Horcrux, sir?"
"How did you manage to stop the ash from falling, Mr. Potter?" Severus asked in turn, moving close enough to the boy to brush the fringe out of his eyes.
"I don't know. I can just . . . do things like that now. My power's been growing stronger since . . . oh," Potter gasped, leaning into Severus' touch, "since just before you began sending me information about the Horcruxes last year."
"Yes," Severus murmured, trailing his fingers over the hard column of flesh straining against Potter's trousers, "you have grown, haven't you?"
Thrusting himself against those fingers, Potter threw back his head and moaned, and Severus sucked it and the boy's silken tongue into his mouth, marveling at how familiar the power emanating from the younger wizard felt to him. He had always been drawn to power, so he did not wonder at how easily he found himself accepting what Potter was so guilelessly offering.
Albus is dead, Godric, too—and I don't want the company of oblivion any longer, Severus thought, drawing the boy back inside the circle of wax and laying him out on the down. "I want you, Harry," he whispered. I want you while there's still time.
"The Aurors are gone. I sent them away," Harry explained, wrapping his arms around Severus' neck and pulling himself up for a kiss.
Severus had not been thinking of the Aurors, but he pushed aside all concerns other than the warm, willing body writhing beneath his own.
There will be another day upon which to contemplate the destruction of the Dark—of Tom Riddle, and, if my fortune holds, there will be days to follow that one.