Chapter Text
Warnings: non consensual sex, dubious consent, corporal punishment, torture, abuse.
Author's Note: there are many slave/master stories where the abuse/rape turn into mutually satisfying lovemaking, and then the master and the slave fall in love and live happily ever after. this isn't one of those stories.
no quarter
He walked barefoot. He was dressed in a paper-thin prison gown that barely covered the top of his thighs.
He was flanked by an Auror on each side, with two more trailing behind. He knew better than to ask questions, or inquire as to his destiny. The last year had taught him that.
Criminals did not get to choose.
In spite of his resigned self-talk, when the charmed entrance opened to them, revealing the Grimmauld Place, Severus shuddered instinctively.
Him?
“Your new Master. Sirius Black, the Head of the Order,” one of the Aurors said maliciously. “You should be grateful that he is taking such an interest in your wellbeing.”
The other guard laughed. “Gratitude?!!” Severus was nudged rudely towards the entrance, and he stumbled a little. “If you thought things were bad for you so far, wait till Black gets his hands on you.”
“Please, no.” He stopped and looked at his guards pleadingly. “Take me back to prison. Anything – anything but this – please...”
A blunt blow followed, and he felt his mouth filling with blood.
He fell silent and looked around. The Muggles in the block scurried back and forth, clearly unaware of the grotesque spectacle playing out under their very noses, courtesy of Disillusionment charm. But even if not for the charm, what could he do? Scream on top of his lungs? What would he scream? Help, I'm a condemned murderer in need of a magic wand? Ah, wouldn't that go well.
All right, maybe he could scream something like, There's a bomb! Or Help, I'm being kidnapped!
Still, the odds that Muggles would take his screams seriously were low. About ten percent, he estimated. The odds that a group of well-meaning Muggles would win a fight against the four Aurors were even lower. About zero-point-one percent. The odds of being punished and nearly flayed alive for screaming and attracting attention to himself... ninety-eight percent.
Severus Snape kept his mouth shut.
The door opened, and Sirius Black stood in the doorway. He stared grimly at Severus and then at the Aurors.
“He's here,” one of the Aurors said needlessly.
“Yes, I can see that,” Black replied dryly, scrutinizing Severus head to toe. “Well, don't just stand there, old friend,” Blacks said as his lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “Enter. You'll be enjoying my hospitality for quite a while, I am glad to say.”
He stepped through the doorway and entered the large dark hall that seemed oddly silent. “You can leave,” Sirius said, and the Aurors nodded to him. If any of them questioned the wisdom of leaving Sirius Black alone with Severus Snape, the traitor to the Order, and the murderer of the late Albus Dumbledore, none seemed too eager to question the decision of the Head of the Order.
“Follow me,” Sirius said evenly, and Severus trailed behind him, entering the large sitting room with a fireplace. The sitting room contained a couch and two armchairs. Sirius took one armchair, and stared at Severus appraisingly, as if trying to evaluate his state of mind. “Come here,” Sirius offered, and Severus stepped forward.
Maybe he'll kill me quickly, a hopeful thought flashed through his mind.
“I'm going to untie your hands. You won't attack me, will you?” Sirius asked with a playful note in his voice.
Severus shook his head mutely. Reckless,futile acts of defiance were a thing of the past. As all prisoners, he was under a complex geis, that prevented him from attacking his captors, magically or physically.
“I want to hear you say it,” Sirius insisted.
“I won't attack you,” Severus said numbly.
“Master,” Sirius supplied in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice, causing Severus gulp at the implication of his error. Punishment, the word crossed his mind, and he choked down a sob, as he repeated, “Master.”
“Very good,” Sirius said approvingly. “Who knows, we might actually get along after all these years. Hmm?”
“Yes, Master,” Severus said.
“All right then.” Sirius' hands rested on his waist, and turned him around. A moment later the restraints were spelled off, releasing his hands. Severus let his arms drop, not daring to rub his wrists or make a single unauthorized movement. He could feel the other man standing behind him, uncomfortably close. Another moment later, Sirius rested his hand on his back. Severus flinched at the touch involuntarily, causing Sirius to chuckle.
“My, my. I suppose you're all broken down and harmless, ey, Snivellus?”
There was no room left for shame.
“I think so, Master,” Severus said sincerely.
“Hmm. You look rough. What did they do to you?”
Severus shuddered involuntarily, as the memories of the past year flooded him. Torture, and more torture, at the hands of the embittered survivors of the Order, torture more gruesome than he had ever anticipated at anyone's hands.
“Many things, Master,” he whispered.
“I imagine. Tell you what. Lie down by the fireplace and have a nap. I'll wake you in the evening, and we'll discuss the terms of your stay with me.”
There was a note of something like sympathy in Black's voice, whether fake or sincere, Severus couldn't tell. It didn't matter.
“Yes, Master,” he said, overwhelmed with gratitude at the simplest permission. He couldn't recall last time he simply slept – without being restrained and left in a torturous, awkward position until he passed out. “Thank you, Master.”
“You're welcome, Snape,” Black said.
Severus walked over to the fireplace and stretched out on the floor next to it. Old memories advanced and launched an assault, eager to remind him how he had come to be here, in this place, in this current state.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“You're asking me to kill you.”
“Correction. I am ordering you to kill me. Severus, the situation requires desperate measures.”
That was the bloody understatement of the millennium, Severus thought grimly. The curse had spread through the older wizard's entire arm, beginning to affect his torso. Severus managed to contain it for now, and alleviate most of the pain, but the situation looked grim, for all of them.
“I'm not a mediwizard, and euthanasia isn't one of the services I provide. If you want a quick, painless death, take a glass of the Autumn Nightshade Potion.”
“Your sentimentality – don't glare at me – is not advantageous right now. We both know that you'll need to do something drastic in order to redeem yourself in Voldemort's eyes. It has to be dramatic. Public. Unquestionable. You saving Sirius Black's life in the battle of the Department of Mysteries was...”
“Easily enough explained,” Severus said dryly.
That was a lie of course. In fact, after an hour of Cruciatus at the Dark Lord's wand Severus had began to wonder whether the filthy mutt's life had been worth the aggravation. Still, the Dark Lord seemed to have accepted the explanation that Severus had provided. Thinking quickly on his feet, Severus had advised the Dark Lord that Sirius was his lover, and privy to priceless information that nobody else in the order had possessed, save Dumbledore himself. He had promised that saving the man's life would result in them having access to that information. Just how he was going to deliver the promised priceless information was another issue, but at least, he was still in the game for the time being.
“You have to kill me,” Dumbledore said gently. “You want to win the war, don't you?”
Bastard, Severus thought.
“And then what, Dumbledore? What will happen should I survive the war? How am I going to explain this to the Order? Or am I only useful as a weapon, and once the war is won, I should prepare to be discarded, and sent off to rot in Azkaban?”
“Far from it. I will make arrangements for the proof of your innocence to be available once the war is over, or even before then, if need be.”
“What sort of proof?” Severus asked numbly, as the inevitability of Dumbledore's impending death finally began to set in.
“I need to research the magic involved. We'll speak again soon.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Well done, Dumbledore, Severus thought absently, as something that almost seemed like resentment prickled at the edges of his awareness. He quickly banished the uncomfortable emotion. His current life left no room for resentment, no room for anger, no room for anything other than simple, basic, animalistic drive to survive.
The warmth of the flames reached him, and a moment later, he sank into the dark dreamless void that held no hopes, no terrors, and no regrets.
To Be Continued Soon.