[ Happy birthday, doll!!! *squeeze* I'm so sorry for this angstfest, but ilu! ]
Harry is fifteen when it happens. One minute Harry is slumped and powerless, Snape probing into his mind with deft precision and seeing his kisses and losses and fears, and the next he is standing over Snape and seeing things he wishes he could take back. Snape's mouth is an angry line for so long, Harry's useless apologies choked somewhere in his throat. There is no going back from this moment. It is the moment that changes everything. Harry doesn't like to think Snape has more than one side to him; it complicates him, and Harry can't deal with any more complications right now. He is only fifteen, but his life is one big, disappointing complication after another, and this one is so glaring in its sad reality that he knows he will never tell Ron and Hermione, that he can't say aloud what he has seen, that it makes him like Snape but worse for knowing.
Snape is not a man of hesitation, but now, he hesitates. Harry wants to be hit. To be punched in the gut or hexed stupid if that's what will make them even. Snape has seen all his private memories and thoughts too, but they weren't like this. Harry is ashamed just looking at Snape, for the sins of his father and the wordlessness that rots his insides.
And then suddenly, Snape drives forward, so fast that Harry cannot move for his breathlessness. Snape's mouth is on him, hands pinning his shoulders to the wall, fingers inside him before he is ready, and he shouts and thrashes and comes in embarrassing minutes with a climax that renders him raw and empty. When Snape laughs at him, Harry bolts, hiking his trousers up and stumbling to the exit, images of horrible things in his head: of his father spelling Snape's weathered pants away, of his mother shoving Snape's mouth off hers in ways Harry could not, of Remus just standing there watching and doing nothing, of Snape huddled in the corner of that darkened room with shadows of his father with fists at the ready cracked through the door.
Two years later, when Snape lays dead before him in the cluttered Shrieking Shack, something inside Harry dies with him and is lost to the winds that rip the words I'm sorry from his tongue.
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timeasmymeasure
fic: Sorry, hard R, chan (Harry is 15)
Date: 2011-03-30 05:42 pm (UTC)Harry is fifteen when it happens. One minute Harry is slumped and powerless, Snape probing into his mind with deft precision and seeing his kisses and losses and fears, and the next he is standing over Snape and seeing things he wishes he could take back. Snape's mouth is an angry line for so long, Harry's useless apologies choked somewhere in his throat. There is no going back from this moment. It is the moment that changes everything. Harry doesn't like to think Snape has more than one side to him; it complicates him, and Harry can't deal with any more complications right now. He is only fifteen, but his life is one big, disappointing complication after another, and this one is so glaring in its sad reality that he knows he will never tell Ron and Hermione, that he can't say aloud what he has seen, that it makes him like Snape but worse for knowing.
Snape is not a man of hesitation, but now, he hesitates. Harry wants to be hit. To be punched in the gut or hexed stupid if that's what will make them even. Snape has seen all his private memories and thoughts too, but they weren't like this. Harry is ashamed just looking at Snape, for the sins of his father and the wordlessness that rots his insides.
And then suddenly, Snape drives forward, so fast that Harry cannot move for his breathlessness. Snape's mouth is on him, hands pinning his shoulders to the wall, fingers inside him before he is ready, and he shouts and thrashes and comes in embarrassing minutes with a climax that renders him raw and empty. When Snape laughs at him, Harry bolts, hiking his trousers up and stumbling to the exit, images of horrible things in his head: of his father spelling Snape's weathered pants away, of his mother shoving Snape's mouth off hers in ways Harry could not, of Remus just standing there watching and doing nothing, of Snape huddled in the corner of that darkened room with shadows of his father with fists at the ready cracked through the door.
Two years later, when Snape lays dead before him in the cluttered Shrieking Shack, something inside Harry dies with him and is lost to the winds that rip the words I'm sorry from his tongue.