In Blood Only by EM Snape
Past Featured StorySummary: Everyone is dismayed to learn Snape is Harry's father. Especially Snape and Harry.
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Dumbledore, Hermione, Lucius, Remus, Ron, Tonks
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama
Media Type: None
Tags: Snape-meets-Dursleys
Takes Place: None
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Character Death, Torture
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 45 Completed: Yes Word count: 173775 Read: 400881 Published: 29 Jan 2005 Updated: 28 Aug 2006
Destruction by EM Snape

Harry's first impulse was to sneer at him: "Gee, it's called sex, Snape. Can't say you'd know anything about it." But Snape had slept with his mother, so really... that would just be asking for a whole arsenal of insults.

And besides, he wasn't sure just how much Snape had witnessed. The Professor had told him during their first Occlumency session that he only saw flashes of Harry's memories. He might just be fishing for a confession.

"Well," Harry fumbled through the memories, avoiding eye-contact and searching for something only slightly incriminating. He didn't bother to remove himself from the floor. "Um, that was Uncle Vernon nailing--"

"You know the memory I'm referring to, Potter!" Snape growled, reaching out and yanking Harry to his feet, maintaining his bruising hold even after Harry's legs were firmly planted on the floor. Harry affected a look of innocent confusion, and Snape's eyes glittered as he drew the boy closer. His voice was low and dangerous. "The memory of an adult, a member of the Order, no less, molesting a fifteen-year-old boy! Explain that one!"

"I'm sixteen!" Harry protested. He'd been fifteen at the time, true, but Snape didn't need to know that. He reached up to pry Snape's unyielding grip from his arm; it was really beginning to hurt. "And she wasn't molesting me."

Snape's fingers squeezed harder. "Nymphadora Tonks is an auror, Potter. It is her job to ensure others don't do with minors what she was clearly doing with you!"

Harry stared at him in confusion. "What are you... Look, just because Tonks maybe thinks I'm a bit cute doesn't mean--"

"Nymphadora Tonks's tastes," Snape snarled, "Or lack thereof, are not the issue here. The issue is a twenty-two year old woman taking advantage of a teenager!"

Harry goggled at him. "Oh, you mean-- her? You're angry at her?"

For a moment, he was obscenely relieved not to be the object of Snape's fury. And then he remembered himself. He was a man. Her man. He was supposed to protect the woman he loved. Slightly ashamed, Harry glared back into Snape's eyes and renewed his struggle to escape the Potions Master's grasp.

"She wasn't taking advantage of me," he said harshly.

He gave one sharp jerk of his arm that still failed to dislodge Snape's grip, and he hated how Snape smirked at him when he couldn't break away. Honestly, before Snape's blasted potion, he probably could have done it. His body was so small and weak now. All thanks to goddamn Snape and his goddamn recessive genes!

"I kissed her first. You saw that! I initiated it."

"And she participated. That, Potter, is a felony," Snape said, eyes glinting cruelly. He abruptly released his hold on Harry's arm, and the boy tumbled back to the floor. "I shall have to report this to the authorities concerned."

Harry suddenly felt cold. The stone floor seemed to leech all warmth from his body. "Report it?"

Oh, no... Tonks...

"Of course, Potter," Snape sneered. "You didn't think I'd simply let this information slip by, did you?"

Harry swallowed; his mouth felt very dry.

"Wait," he said, voice laced with desperate fear. "That's not necessary. You don't... You shouldn't--"

Snape's lip curled maliciously.

"Oh, Potter, I think it's very necessary. In fact, I would be remiss in my duties as your teacher or," he smirked, "as your father to simply let this offense stand."

He was going to do it, Harry realized with sinking dismay. He was going to report Tonks. She would get fired. Or--Merlin! Arrested! She could go to Azkaban... Another life would be ruined because of Harry's stupidity.

Oh, Tonks...

"I won't let you do it," Harry stated flatly, shoving himself to his feet. The resolve he suddenly felt surprised even him. "Don't you dare do it, Snape!"

"As far as I see it, Potter," Snape hissed. "You have little to say in this matter. I suggest you get back to your room before I think of a suitable response to your transgression. Now, GO!"

Harry didn't budge. He stared at his professor, feeling his insides go cold, his mind sharpening into the focus usually induced by a nasty duel or a game of Quidditch. This wasn't going to happen. He would stop Snape. He wasn't going to let him ruin her life...

"Did you hear me, boy?" Snape demanded harshly, taking a step towards Harry as the young wizard suddenly realized what he had to do. "I said--"

Harry's wand was drawn and thrust in Snape's direction before he'd really given his actions a thought. One word. One spell. He could do it. He could do it. He could...

"Obliv--"

Obliviate. The last syllables had no chance to leave his mouth before the fist slammed against his cheek. Pain exploded through his head as the world reeled about him in an explosion of lights and stars. His wand flew from his hand and he dropped, hard, onto his elbows and knees upon the stone floor.

Harry had one breathless instant in which he knelt there, in shock, gasping for breath, before some nameless force gripped him and wrenched him back up, whirling him around and slamming his back against the wall. A heavy weight held him in place with an invisible chokehold, his legs dangling limply into the air beneath him.

Stunned, and suddenly quite afraid, his eyes shot up to Snape's.

The Potions Master loomed before him, wand aloft, eyes gleaming and lips twisted into the most vicious expression Harry had ever witnessed. With a curl of his lips, Snape made a small gesture with his wand that suddenly increased the weight upon his chest and neck exponentially. Harry gasped, lurching against the force instinctively. It felt as though a grown man were sitting on his chest, wrapping his hands around Harry's neck.

Snape was suddenly looming before him, dark and enraged. "YOU STUPID BOY! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"

Harry flinched at the sheer, unadulterated fury in Snape's tone. The man's expression grew impossibly uglier and he twitched his wand again. The weight pinning Harry against the stone wall increased impossibly, the hands around his neck squeezed, and he suddenly found himself struggling simply to draw breath. Snape didn't seem to notice his struggles, and drew menacingly closer, eyes wide, black and infuriated.

"HOW DARE YOU! You thought to OBLIVIATE ME?" Snape roared, spittle flying from his mouth. "You could have DESTROYED MY MIND with that spell!"

Snape swiped his wand viciously through the air, and suddenly the invisible man became a hippogriff crushing Harry's chest. The weight was agonizing. Harry fought to breathe; he couldn't. He was pinned, unmoving, against the wall before Snape, and the man seemed to be completely fixated on venting his rage.

"STUPID, IRRESPONSIBLE, ARROGANT BOY!" Snape bellowed, either oblivious to Harry's plight or simply uncaring of it. "You are the very replica of James Potter! That my blood produced a blight upon wizardkind such as yourself... I'm SICKENED! I'm ashamed! It's not enough to KILL YOUR GODFATHER you hope to CONSIGN ME TO SAINT MUNGO'S WITH GILDEROY LOCKHART!"

Harry felt as though his lungs would explode. He tried to kick his legs, to fight this nameless grip suffocating him, but nothing helped. He clawed at his throat with desperate fingers. They tore straight into his skin even as his vision tunneled into a narrow spot...

And suddenly with a careless wave of Snape's wand, the weight was gone.

He dropped at once into a boneless heap on the floor. His entire body trembled weakly as he choked desperate gulps of air, his lungs aching. Harry began to shove himself up onto his hands and knees, still choking in desperate breaths, but they gave way beneath him and he collapsed again.

Too exhausted to raise his cheek from the floor, he watched with half-lidded eyes as Snape's black robes swished across the floor and halted before him. He didn't know exactly how his gaze found its way up to the man's cruel, pale face, glowering down at him, but he realized suddenly that Snape was smiling maliciously, relishing Harry's pain, his weakness.

"Perhaps that's what it is about you, Potter," Snape whispered viciously. "Everything and everyone you touch, you destroy. Is that why those muggle relatives of yours loathe you? They see what you've done to the others, even those you supposedly care about? Your parents, your godfather, Weasley and Granger-- those friends of yours whom you've nearly killed so many times through your selfishness..."

Harry wished he could tear off his ears. Anything. Anything but hear this.

"And poor Sirius Black..." Snape said, his voice suddenly adopting mock tenderness. A part of Harry froze in dreadful anticipation of what was sure to follow. "Twelve years he spent rotting in Azkaban, longing for his beloved godson, only to be killed because the little brat decided to play the hero." Snape was smiling again, though his words remained vicious. "What would Black have said, if he'd known it wasn't James Potter's son he was dying for? Do you think he would have lifted a finger to save your miserable hide if he'd known you were Snivellus's bastard?"

Snape's smooth, malignant voice articulated Harry's own insecurities with such frightening accuracy that the boy screwed his eyes shut, fearing the man was legilimizing him even now. But he could close his ears to the words.

"Oh, but I'm not saying you shouldn't take pride in your accomplishment." Snape's voice was dripping with a cruel parody of affection, but his eyes were glinting with hatred when Harry risked a glance. "Such an exploit, killing Sirius Black... Almost makes you worthy of the family name. I nearly forgave you your worthless existence, when I first had the pleasure of witnessing your memories of it. An incredible shock for the worthless mutt, wasn't it? Tumbling through that veil."

Harry's head slumped to the floor. It felt icy against his forehead. He stared at it sightlessly, feeling oddly numb. He didn't even jump when Snape's cold fingers suddenly brushed through his hair, just for an instant.

"But then again, Black should have seen it coming. He was, after all, protecting precious Harry Potter. And we know what happens to those unfortunate enough to try that."

* * *

He was not quite sure what happened after that. Snape's words, so frighteningly accurate, so very true, tore into him like knives... All words that had echoed in Harry's mind for months, words he'd denied and ignored and denied... Snape had granted those thoughts reality by speaking them himself, revealing to the world those dark truths that only Harry had known, that Harry had concealed from others, even from himself.

But he could no longer ignore the reality of it. He had done it.

He had killed Sirius.

He did not know how or when he'd returned from that disastrous Occlumency session. He was not aware of himself again until he realized he was staring at the ceiling of his room; he was vaguely aware that he had been doing so for some time now. The covers felt oppressive and smothering, yet too heavy to remove. That familiar sensation of wanting to crawl out of his skin had completely overcome him, and he could not shake it off. It was like a thousand eyes were watching him, and he was lying here completely exposed to their scrutiny.

Tremors ran though his body. Faint, uncontrollable trembling. Why...?

Something had drawn him from his shocked stupor... His scar was prickling.

For the first time in months, for the first time in so long, it was prickling. Voldemort was aware of him again. Somehow, the tentative barrier that had severed their connection had been torn away.

His strange apathy was broken by a sudden gush of fury. He'd warned Snape this would happen if they started Occlumency again. He'd warned him, goddamn it!

Harry rubbed at his scar, and was answered with a sharp twinge that receded into a dull but persistent ache. He shut his eyes, trying to ignore it, trying to clear his thoughts. But his mind wandered back to the terrible lesson. Tonks, Snape, Sirius... His insides withered with distress. His scar began to burn with pain.

Tendrils of fear crept through him. He would never forget those horrifying moments in the Department of Mysteries when Voldemort plowed right into his mind, splitting open his defenses and claiming possession of him. He could never ignore how powerless he had felt, how weak... The way his lips had moved of someone else's volition, the searing agony he'd felt that made him long for death...

These recent months, when daytime consisted of a smooth numbness to the world, and nighttimes of quiet oppression as he huddled in the narrowest, darkest corner he could find, he'd almost forgotten about Voldemort's ever-present connection to his mind; it had almost seemed like Voldemort had forgotten about him.

And now the pain was back.

Harry pressed the scar with his palms, fervently hoping this was just an anomaly, that Voldemort had not reawakened to their connection after many months of silence. Maybe it was just stress, or fear. Snape was driving him half out of his mind, after all. Snape had practically kidnapped him. Imprisoned him. Berated him. Insulted him. Attacked him.

Spoken the truth to him.

Again, involuntarily, his thoughts crept back to his betrayal of Tonks, and his failed attempt to obliviate Snape. (What had he been thinking?) Back to his near suffocation by whatever the hell that spell had been.

And Snape's words. Those terrible and truthful words.

At least someone would admit it to him. Someone would finally say it to him. They'd all been lying to him for months. "It wasn't your fault, Harry..." How many times had he heard that? But he'd never been fooled. And apparently, neither had Snape. Snape pinned the blame where it was due. He knew Harry was guilty. He was willing to tell Harry it had been his fault. He would make Harry suffer for his sins.

Such an exploit... Killing Sirius Black.

There was so much pain in his scar now that his eyes were watering. He tried to command himself to stop thinking; these thoughts were only making it worse. Only opening him, rendering him more vulnerable...

Those friends of yours whom you've nearly killed so many times through your selfishness...

Fuck, fuck. What had he done, the last time he'd felt this way? This summer, how had he handled this? He didn't have his cupboard here for refuge. That had been his only escape. What could he do now?

His gaze wandered over to the closet. It looked large enough for him, if a bit more confined than he might have liked. He staggered across the room, and with shaking hands pulled the door open.

The closet smelled musty, and the air was filled with floating clouds of dust. Harry stood in the doorway, silent with indecision. A sharp, lancing pain in his scar made up his mind for him, though, and he returned quickly to the bed to haul off the top blanket and drag it behind him into the closet. He snuggled into the blanket and settled down in the corner, pulling the door closed behind him.

The closet was quickly enveloped in darkness. Harry pressed his legs out and realized he didn't have enough room to stretch them all the way. It was actually rather uncomfortable. The narrowness of the room forced him to remain seated upright, but if he bunched some of the blanket behind his back... There. Much better.

His head slumped against the cold wall, and he slowed his breathing, trying to ignore the circumstances that had led him here, to forget the aching of his scar. He just had to focus on that other place... small and dark... just like this one. He was no longer at Snape's manor house. He was not the grand savior of the wizarding world. He was nothing. No one.

It was easier to breathe in the slow, natural rhythm now, and he imagined the Dursleys tromping up and down the stairs overhead, the smell of the bacon he couldn't eat drifting through the vents.

He was just the boy in the cupboard under the stairs. In a small, black cupboard. He was a worthless freak. He was absolutely nothing in this world. No better than the dirt on Uncle Vernon's shoes.

He had never killed anyone. No one would die for the boy under the stairs, anyway. Just freakish, worthless Harry.

No one would ever expect anything of him.

He began to relax, feeling strangely comforted. The pain slowly receded from his scar. Time dragged by. It was okay, though. No responsibility, no fears. Nothing. No one. Nothing.

An interminable period of time slipped by. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep. His thoughts dwindled into stillness as he relaxed into the soothing darkness of the constricted space, as the pain slowly slipped away...

And that was when Snape found him.

The End.


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