Army of Two

Fri, 16 Mar 2007 18:38:29 GMT

I just finished Haleth's Army of Two, and I'm feeling so happy and, really, a little hot. It's warm in here, right? Anyway, it was gorgeous and kinky and romantic from beginning to end, and if you haven't read it, you definitely should. Although, it would probably be a good idea to wait until you have a significant block of time to devote to it, because there are a crapload of chapters, and once you start, you won't be able to stop.

I'd link to it, but I don't know how to do that, yet. I'm such a technodweeb.

Vassallus, Chapter 1

Thu, 22 Feb 2007 19:45:34 GMT

Vassallus by Bella White
Summary: Severus Snape thought he'd earned some peace and quiet now that Voldemort is finally dead. But when Albus Dumbledore brings shocking news of the Savior of the Wizarding World, Severus will have to sacrifice the life he thought he wanted for the chance to save Harry Potter--again. This time, though, Harry might just save Severus right back.
Rated: PG to NC17, depending on the chapter
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Severus
Warnings: D/s throughout. Check warnings for specifics at chapter beginnings
Chapter: 1 of ?
Feedback: Would really give me a thrill!

Some forms of servitude are voluntary. Some shackles too—
Some you can remove. But this story—
you start in the middle, in the thick and marrow of it.
Mark Wunderlich, fromVoluntary Servitude

Vassallus

Chapter 1

“How can you ask this of me? Albus—“ Severus Snape cut himself off, closing his mouth with an audible click of teeth.
It was a ludicrous question. He couldn’t imagine what uncharted wellspring of foolish hope had leaked into his consciousness over the last few months of uninterrupted solitude, to allow him to forget that there was absolutely no limit—ever—to what Albus Dumbledore could ask of him.
The wizard in question was watching Severus silently, a momentary twinkle brightening the now-habitual weariness of his expression. Albus was beginning to slow down, Severus thought. It was as if the death of Voldemort six months ago had catapulted him from vitality into old age. However, he was still more than quick enough to outmaneuver his erstwhile Potions professor, and Severus knew it.
Whatever peace he’d managed to scrape together in his little hideaway, it was about to be severely disrupted.
Severus scowled. The outcome might be inevitable, but that didn’t mean he had to give in gracefully.
“Strike that last remark,” he sneered. “Or consider it purely rhetorical. I should by damn know better than to question your willingness to impose distasteful, thankless tasks on me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Severus,” Albus said. “In this case, you’re truly the only person I’d consider asking.”
“Because I’m too much in your debt to throw you out on your ear as you deserve.”
“Because you’re too scrupulously fair to allow the young man who saved us all to suffer, when you could do something to alleviate it,” Albus corrected. He paused. “And also because you have some personal experiences that I believe will be of help to you in your dealings with young Harry.”
Severus stiffened before he could stop himself. Personal experiences…ah, yes. The good old days, before the Dark Lord’s punishments had devolved to nothing but lengthy bouts of Cruciatus. There’d been a time when his tastes had run far more to the exquisitely subtle art of psychological torture. And Severus, as a double agent walking the knife edge of giving the Death Eaters just enough information to maintain his place in the inner circle, while keeping enough back to protect Dumbledore’s interests, had come in for more than his share of punishment.
The particular night in question, the Dark Lord had been quite angry with Severus—but it had been a glittering, greedy sort of anger. He’d intimated that Severus needed incentive to work a little harder, to be a bit more loyal—and with that, he’d cast the Vassallus curse.
In the space of a breath, Severus had felt his conscious will slip away, to be replaced by a burning desire to serve his Master, in whatever way the Master deemed fit. Severus shuddered to remember the things he’d done—but the aspect of the experience that still visited him in nightmares was the absolute, abject joy he’d taken in the acts he’d performed for his Master.
The hells he’d lived through in the course of his years as a spy had been many and varied, but that night had been more humiliating than most. Humiliating enough, in fact, that Severus had never mentioned it in any of his reports to Dumbledore. It shouldn’t surprise him that the wily old wizard knew about it anyway, but somehow, it did.
He shook his head. “I thought I’d buried that incident deep enough to have kept you unaware of it.”
Albus pursed his mouth. “For Harry’s sake, I’m glad you didn’t. Your experience that night all those years ago was what initially led me to investigate the Vassallus family of curses for the potential source of Harry’s affliction.”
“Affliction.” Severus allowed his lip to curl. “For once, Albus, call a spade a spade. Potter is under an unidentified curse that has significantly altered his mental and behavioral patterns, and it’s killing him.”
Albus clapped his hands together, as if Severus had amazed him with some new bit of information. “Exactly! Although, to be fair, Severus, I don’t believe we can state with any certainty that the curse itself is harming him. In fact, I believe Harry’s problems are an indirect result of the curse, in that it has created needs in him which aren’t currently being met.”
“And you think I’m the best person to meet those needs.”
The older wizard nodded vigorously, sending the pointed tip of his purple silk cap dancing. “Harry’s case is somewhat different from what you experienced, in that it appears to be long term—perhaps in other ways, as well, we’re really having the devil of a time with the research—but I’m sure enough is the same that you’ll be able to empathise with his situation. Yes, Severus, I’m positive you’re the one.”
Shaken, Severus stood and paced the breadth of his small sitting room. The rows upon rows of books lining the walls usually calmed him, but not today, with Albus waiting for an answer in the squashy, overstuffed chair he’d conjured upon arrival.
It was beyond infuriating. Hadn’t he given enough? Years of danger and sacrifice, secrets and lies. In the end, he’d trained Potter personally, and stood with him against the Dark Lord. He’d been struck down before Potter’s final confrontation, in a last-ditch effort to keep the Death Eaters at bay, and he’d been sure that was the end of Severus Snape.
However, against all odds and his own expectations, he’d survived. And now, when by any reasonable person’s standards he could be considered to have earned a spot of serenity, who should arrive to suck him back into the vortex of chaos that constantly surrounded the Potter boy? Albus Dumbledore, of course. The sovereign king of unreasonable people.
It was too much to bear. Never fucking mind that in spite of the quantities of solitude Severus had recently been afforded, serenity had turned out to be an elusive pipe dream. It was nobody’s business but his own that Severus had yet to learn how to cope with the new emptiness of his life, now that his task was done, and the threat of the Dark Lord had passed.
Whirling to a stop, Severus was aware of the satisfyingly dramatic flare of his black robes. It was a comforting gesture in its familiarity—he hadn’t done that since his Potions Master days at Hogwarts.
He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Albus. “I’m not nearly so sanguine. Surely Potter is better off where he is, being cared for by those who love him. Or at least, those who can tolerate his aggravating presence for longer than an hour.”
“Now, Severus, I know you and Harry get on better than that,” Albus said with a reproving glance. He helped himself to another cup of tea. “During the last few years of the war, you worked together quite a lot, didn’t you? And managed quite nicely not to kill one another.”
“Barely,” Severus growled. “The brat tested my patience every single day—he may look like a young man, but at heart, he’s still the same stubborn, willful, heedless boy he was at school.”
“I think you’ll find him quite changed now.”
And before Severus could move to stop him, Albus had risen and crossed to the fireplace. He bent and stuck his head in, and said quite clearly, “It’s all right. You may come through now.”
He stood up, brushing ash casually from his gray hair, and Severus sighed. “I knew I shouldn’t have allowed my fireplace to be connected to the floo in your office.”
“Ah, the benefits of hindsight,” Albus replied, drawing his wand. With a flick of his wrist, three more chairs clustered in a rough circle around his chintz monstrosity and Severus’ own worn armchair. It was getting a little crowded in the tiny sitting room.
The three people who tumbled out of Severus’ fireplace seemed to agree, as they collided with the back of one of the newly transfigured chairs, and ended in an inelegant heap on his hearth. Severus sniffed and took his seat as they sorted themselves out.
As expected, the Granger chit was there, along with her buffoon of a boyfriend, Weasley. And there was Potter, picking himself up from the floor with some apparent difficulty, and scurrying to help Weasley to his feet.
Potter looked like hell. Gone was the young man who’d stood tall and proud on the field of battle, throwing hexes and curses with commendable efficiency—an efficiency Severus had felt no small amount of justifiable pride in. Potter had been an irritant, yes, but he’d been hale and strong, tanned a healthy brown from months of fighting the aerial battles on brooms, which had proven so decisive.
That day, Potter had felt vital and strong at Severus’ side. This wraith who had taken his place was shocking.
He’d dropped at least a stone, and he was paler than Severus. The milk-white complexion emphasized the dark purple smudges ringing his eyes. Those eyes were still as green as ever, Severus noted, but they seemed somehow lifeless, as though the essential spark that had propelled Potter into and out of so much trouble over the years had been extinguished.
Or perhaps it had merely been banked, Severus thought, as Potter moved puposefully to settle Weasley into one of the armchairs. Weasley looked uncomfortable with this solicitude, but he settled into the chair quietly enough, taking a moment to gawk at his surroundings. Granger took the seat next to him, and Potter stood for a moment as if uncertain, before sinking gracefully to his knees beside Weasley’s chair.
Weasley started, his face twisted with frustration. “Harry! No. How many times do we have to--?”
Granger laid a hand on his arm and he subsided, but Severus had seen Potter flinch. Those thin shoulders hunched slightly, but Potter stood and moved to the remaining chair without a word.
“Sorry, mate,” Ron said. “Didn’t mean to snap.” Harry’s only response was to bow his head as he perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair, clearly ill at ease.
Granger made an abortive movement towards him, as if to comfort. But she let her hand drop without making contact, and sat back with a sigh. Knitting her brows, she looked up to find Severus watching her, and said, “It’s worse if I touch him. Well, if anyone other that Ron touches him, actually. That was one of the clues that led us to the Vassallus curses—near-fanatical loyalty.”
“I was the one who found him, y’see, after You-Know-Who snuffed it,” Ron explained unnecessarily. “I didn’t see the curse, the last one You-Know-Who cast. Got there just after. Harry was unconscious, but I shook him awake, and he took one look at me, and, um, here we are.” His voice was rushed, as if he wanted to fill the sudden, tense silence with inane chatter as quickly as possible.
“I’m aware of the circumstances, Mr. Weasley,” Severus said repressively. He wondered if they realized that they were speaking about Potter as if the boy hadn’t ears to hear them, nor sense to understand.
In their defense, Potter did appear somewhat detached from the proceedings. Since Weasley’s fumbling attempt at an apology, Potter had sat quietly, his gaze unfocused and dull.
“Yes, I’ve told Severus what happened, so far as we know, as well as what we want of him,” Albus said.
The Granger girl cleared her throat ostentatiously. “I certainly hope, Professor Snape, that you’re as aware as you seem to believe of what you would be taking on.” Her voice had that same irritatingly authoritative tone Severus remembered from his classes. He imagined her at the head of her own class of cowering pupils, and almost smiled. The girl was a born lecturer.
At the moment, however, he was the unfortunate target of her skills.
Peering at him skeptically, she continued, “Harry is in a very fragile state right now. Physically, he’s recovered well from the wounds he took in the final battle, in spite of what we’ve led the media and the general public to believe.”
“Of course. I can see how it would be necessary to keep the true nature of Potter’s problem out of the press,” Severus said solicitously, making a conscious effort not to allow sarcasm into his voice. For Merlin’s sake, he wasn’t some idiot Weasley, incapable of grasping simple concepts at a glance.
“Er…yes.”
He’d managed to throw Granger off her stride. Now Severus did smile.
Gamely, she collected herself and was off again. “Mentally, though, is another issue altogether. We’re spending so much time researching the curse that I’m afraid Harry is alone most of the day. We can’t seem to get him to eat or take care of himself. He simply can’t continue this way until we find the counter curse.“
If you ever find it, Severus thought. The Dark Lord had obviously spent a great deal of power and time modifying this curse to suit his needs. When he’d cast Vassallus on Severus, it had taken considerable concentration to maintain that level of control over another human being, even for the length of an evening. The range of specific modifications necessary to render Potter permanently submissive, even beyond the caster’s death, was truly frightening.
What none of these inveterate Gryffindors wanted to believe was that if this were indeed a personalized variation on the Dark Lord’s Vassallus curse, it was entirely possible that a counter would never be discovered. What none of them would ever say was that Severus could well be looking at a lifelong commitment to being Potter's keeper.
“You all seem to believe that I am the solution to Potter’s ills.” Severus narrowed his eyes on Granger and Weasley. “I realize that we were forced into a certain proximity during the final years of the war, but I certainly wouldn’t classify any of us as ‘mates’. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to tell me your undoubtedly well-thought-out reasons for attempting to saddle me with this responsibility?”
Granger blinked once, but was otherwise unfazed. Severus reluctantly gave her credit for grace under pressure. He’d used his iciest, most polite voice, after all, and he well knew its effect on the weak-minded.
“Well, Professor Snape, to begin with, your situation here is ideal. Your cottage is unplottable and under Fidelius to keep you safe from the last remaining Death Eaters, and Professor Dumbledore is your Secret Keeper. That makes this cottage nearly as secure as Hogwarts, and certainly more private. Added to that is the fact that you more than proved your loyalty and courage in the fight against Voldemort, and Professor Dumbledore trusts you.”
“Predictably sentimental at the end,” Severus said, “but the rest is true enough. And you, Weasley? Have you a reason of your own, or are you, in your time-tested manner, allowing Ms. Granger to do all your reasoning for you?”
Weasley flushed a bit—the curse of the ginger-haired, Severus thought with satisfaction—but straightened his shoulders and met his gaze directly.
“I don't fancy leaving Harry with a sarcastic, unfeeling git like you, but I reckon you’ve spent enough years saving Harry’s arse that it’d be a tough habit for you to break now.”
And there it was. The truest thing any of them had yet said. Better than all of Granger’s practicalities, and more convincing even than Albus’ unsubtle hints at penance still unearned. Saving Harry Potter was a way of life, and Severus had lived it far too long to give up on it at this point. To do so would render all his previous hardships and sacrifices worthless.
It was galling, however, to be read so clearly by a devout ignoramus like Ronald Weasley, and Severus experienced a terrific urge to expel them all from his sitting room, his cottage, his life, out of sheer spite—but a small sound distracted him.
He glanced over to see Potter rejoining the conversation. It must have just sunk in, what they were all doing here in this strange, cramped little room. That they were, in effect, transferring ownership—from Weasley to Severus.
Potter’s jaw worked silently for a moment, and a terrible spasm of grief and shame crossed his face.
Then, without warning, he flung himself off his chair and onto the floor at Weasley’s feet. Clutching at the arms of Weasley’s chair, Potter gasped out, “Oh, please, Master, don’t send me away. I promise, I’ll be good, I’ll be normal, I’ll try harder, I’ll work harder, I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t send me away from you.” His hoarse voice broke up into sobs, and he buried his face against his right shoulder.
Part of Severus’ mind noted the mode of Potter’s plea, even as he controlled a wince at the use of the word ‘Master’. He’d spent too many years crawling before a different Master to ever feel comfortable with that word.
I’ll work harder, Potter had said. Looking more and more like Vassallus all the time, Severus thought—part of the curse was intended to condition the victim to work tirelessly for the pleasure of the caster.
Weasley paled under his freckles, and laid a tentative hand on Potter’s head. Severus watched as Potter stretched up into the touch, and wondered if he was the only one who noticed the way Potter’s shoulders slumped in defeat when Weasley lifted his hand to gesticulate helplessly.
“I’m sorry, mate, I am, but we—I—can’t give you what you need. You’re fading away, and I can’t have that, not when there’s a way to stop it. If it were only about loving you enough, or sticking it out, I’d never give up, you know that, but until we figure out what’s wrong with you…”
Potter’s shoulders shook harder, his sobs deeper and more wracking.
He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with him, Severus realized.
Granger screwed up her face as if she were trying not to cry, and Weasley’s breath started to hitch. The room was filled with the harsh sounds of Potter’s weeping, and, abruptly, Severus couldn’t stand it any longer.
He stood and crossed the few steps to stare down at Potter’s heaving back. Without preliminaries, Severus pulled Potter’s hands from the arms of Weasley’s chair, and crossed his wrists behind his back. Potter stiffened as if hit by a bolt of lightning, throwing his head back and shuddering into the restraining hand, eyes squeezed shut.
Severus gathered both of Potter’s slender wrists into one long-fingered hand, and pressed his left hand to the boy’s shoulder to steady him as he drew him to his feet.
“Enough, now,” Severus said quietly into the boy’s ear. “Enough. It’s out of your hands.”
They were standing close enough together for Severus to feel the sharp wings of Potter’s shoulder blades, the heat of his slender body, the tremor that ran through it at Severus’ words. Severus felt an unwelcome surge of answering heat low in his belly.
Potter turned his head slightly to the left and opened his eyes, meeting Severus’ steady gaze. Severus read gratitude and relief in the wet, green depths, in the softening line of the boy’s neck.
Holding his gaze, Severus clarified, “You were his. Now you are mine.” A tense pause. Then Potter gulped and nodded jerkily.
There. It was done.
Severus didn’t release Potter’s wrists, nor his grip on Potter’s shoulder. He could feel the boy moving in his grasp, infinitesimal shifts of his bony forearms. Not attempting to break Severus’ hold, not at all, but testing the strength of it. Savoring it, Severus thought with a surge of memory. It had felt good, that night, to be held down, to have all choice removed.
This was what Weasley hadn’t been able to give his friend.
The room, which had been holding its collective breath since Severus stood, came to life again. Albus beamed from Severus’ left, while Granger looked smug, and Weasley looked ill, but resigned.
Severus was suddenly desperate for all of them to leave. Well, truthfully, he’d never been all that pleased about having them in his house, but at this moment, he felt an absolute imperative towards solitude. He’d just taken an enormous leap into a future he wasn’t sure he wanted, or could even live with, and he needed time to process what had happened.
Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World and Curse Victim Extraordinaire, stood quiescent and yielding in his arms.
What in the name of the Founders was Severus supposed to do with him?

The Slash Virgin

Thu, 22 Feb 2007 18:03:04 GMT

So, I'm a slash virgin. Not to reading it, oh no--that cherry was popped months ago. It didn't even hurt--probably because I exercise. Ok, enough of that metaphor. I think it's starting to hit the ick factor.

What I meant was, I've never written it before. But I got this itch to try it, and then I got this idea, so here I am. A newly created livejournal, and two chapters of a story all written. I'm going to post the first chapter, because I think it's basically done, and I'll post more as I write it.

This first story is in the Harry Potter fandom, because that's what I started with when I first began reading fanfic. I must say that I fell in love with Harry/Draco first, then moved on to all sorts of different pairings, before ever giving Snarry a chance. I'm not sure why I resisted it so much, but eventually I found Walking the Plank, a fantastic archive devoted to Snarry, and I was hooked. So this first fic of mine is all about Snape and Harry--but if I end up as addicted to writing fanfic as I am to reading it, I don't expect I'll be completely faithful to that pairing, or even the HP fandom. I've recently discovered Pirate slash (oh, I love me some Commodore Norrington) and even Real Person Slash, which squicked me a little at first, but now I find an interesting change of pace. Basically, if it has good writing, two interesting men falling for each other and doing hot things to each other, I'm happy. I have a few particular kinks--read my fanfic, and you'll get a pretty good idea of what I like! It's not super subtle, but hey, I'm just getting started.

So here goes.