Cursed

Chapter 1

For a while after they exited the pensieve, there was only the sound of harsh breathing and the chill of the unheated sitting room. He stood a bit away from her, trembling with nervous energy while clutching a potion vial in his pocket. Through a thick fog of occlumency, he watched the girl as she processed what he'd shown her, her eyes opening wide and squeezing shut, her body shaking like a frightened mouse. Another minute to think might help her calm herself, but more likely, it would only help her panic. There was little time left to delay anyway.

He took the vial of dark liquid from his pocket and held it out to her.

She stared at it for several seconds, then looked at him like he was Voldemort himself. "You want me to take a date rape drug?"

"It's not…" He trailed off. He could pretty it up with nice words and euphemisms, but that was exactly what it was. "It will help you to remain insensitive throughout the procedure."

"Throughout you raping me," she said.

He shuddered. "I won't force you to take it, but the alternative will be unpleasant."

"You bastard."

He agreed.

"You're mad," she said. "This isn't real. This is a trick."

"Then run," he said. He prayed. He breathed in and out and cleared his mind.

She glanced at the door. It was unguarded, and she had her wand, but she made no attempt to leave. She wouldn't. She was intelligent, and she valued her life. He hated her for it. Anyone else would have been miles away already and let him cop out. He stretched his arm to put the vial within her reach. "This is the best solution."

She glared daggers at him. He wished she would glare at his jugular vein.

"Seriously? How about breaking the bloody curse?"

He breathed in and out. "It is beyond my capability."

"Or beyond your desire."

In and out. "You will not remember anything."

Her face twisted like a knife in his chest. "And you'd love that, wouldn't you? No witnesses. No one to judge you for the vile creature you are. Taking your sick pleasure while I'm unconscious."

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to understand what she wanted. "Would you rather remain cognizant?"

"Fuck you! Oh no, fuck me, right? That's what this is all about. Like hell I want to feel you touching me."

He breathed in and out, but his mind refused to clear. Slivers of feeling crept into his awareness. The cold of the room. The heat growing inside him. The ache. Blood pumping in his arms and legs, pounding in his head, his chest. His throat tightened. He inhaled. He exhaled. He closed his eyes and racked his brain for what to say. He could spout any flavor of inane comforts, lies that it would be alright, don't worry, we'll get through it together, and other bullshit, but they were neither so naïve.

"It is not personal," he said. "Merely a transaction. A medical treatment."

She slapped him.

The shock crashed through his mental guard and a myriad of pains rushed into him. He gripped the desk and rode out a tsunami of all his nerves firing at once. She was hurting too. He could see it in her eyes, her tough front wavering. But she didn't break. Despite the circumstance, he was impressed. He could see why she was in Gryffindor.

Maybe he'd been wrong. He dared to hope. Maybe she would rather—

"How does it work?"

His hope burned to ash. Of course. He shook his head. Of course. He rolled his dried-up tongue around his mouth. "You will recall nothing from the first taste to when you wake."

"If I have to forget, I don't want to remember any of it. I don't want to remember this day. I don't want to remember ever coming here."

Someone laughed. Not her. Not him. In his head. He heard something mocking, whispering heinous things. He focused and cleared his mind again.

"A retroactive potion is not recommended. The effects could extend beyond the desired scope. I could not confidently provide you one."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not even a great potion's master like you?"

He let the problem distract him for a moment. Perhaps there was a way, but… "I would not risk your intellect."

"You dare pretend to give a damn about that while planning how to go about fucking me while I'm unaware."

The whispers exploded into a clamoring host. Horrid images spewed into his mind. He clutched his gut and stifled a groan.

"Oh please. Don't pretend this is hard for you. What do you have to lose? This is all so convenient for you, isn't it?"

Searing heat surged in his loins, and ominous pressure started building. He shifted his hips and prayed the shadows hid the growing bulge. "I assure you, Miss Granger." Just saying her name felt like a violation. "None of this is convenient for me. I am not enjoying this situation."

"Not yet." She jerked her chin at the potion. "Just wait a few minutes after I've had that. Then you'll be enjoying all you want."

Her gaze dipped to his shame, and her tough façade cracked, spilling fear and helplessness through her gaping eyes.

"I'm fine with forgetting," she said. "I have enough nightmares and reasons to hate myself." Her hands clenched to fists. "But I don't want to remain insensible throughout the procedure. I want to be free to move."

"You do?"

She skewered him with a glare. "You can forget your fantasies. I don't want to feel anything. I'm not going to participate."

He flushed. "I did not mean—"

"You can knock me out in the middle, but I'm not going to lie down for you, Snape." She said his name like it was something maggot-filled. "I'm not a willing party, and I'm going to make sure you don't forget that. I going to fight you every step of the way. Can you make that happen?"

He wasn't even sure he understood, but he nodded anyway. "Not today, but I can prepare something for the next time."

"Next time." She snickered. "Already looking forward to it?"

He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"Give me that."

He held out the vial and she snatched it, uncorked it, and drank.

"How fast does it work?"

Snape rushed forward and caught her as she collapsed. The vial fell from her limp hand and smashed on the ground. He froze as he held her up, his mouth agape, eyes wide as he looked down at her. She was so small, so light, so young. He could still see in her the bushy-headed little girl who once annoyed him with her ceaseless questions, her wordy essays, and know-it-all attitude. She'd grown since then into a fine young woman with a bright future, and he had been proud to call himself her teacher. But now….

He tore his eyes from her face, before he could get any more nauseous. Then he steeled himself and carried her over to the bed.

He lay her down gently, and then backed away to the farthest side of the room, all courage gone again. He paced back and forth rubbing his face, holding his stomach, not looking at the bed. How the hell was he supposed to do this?

The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange rang in his head. Don't you know the mechanism, Snape? Never had that talk with your parents?

"Shut up!"

He cast an array of silencing spells and privacy spells to layer over the impervious ones already in place. He was stalling.

But what else could he do? He couldn't do this. He couldn't….

If you don't, you both die horrible, gruesome, agonizing deaths. That what you want, Sevvie?

"Shush!"

Either way's fine with me, you know.

The dead woman cackled in his ears.

"Go away, Bella. Go away. Go away."

He shook the voice out of his head. He was going nuts. He would lose his mind before this was all over. Maybe he should hope for that. Maybe that would break this wretched curse. He scraped his nails across his scalp. Maybe they didn't really have to do this. Maybe it wouldn't get too bad. They wouldn't actually die. They could just ignore it and treat the symptoms. Why would anyone make a spell like this?

He accidentally looked at the bed and his stomach lurched. He threw up by the door and slumped against it, banging his head over and over.

Something was happening to him. He was shivering, but his insides were burning. His mouth was so bloody dry. Every muscle in him was twitching and his joints felt packed with grit.

Ice cold sweat dripped down his back. Cold like a blade's edge. He felt something in his spine between his shoulders. Something coiling around it. Squeezing. A leash. A warning. Death. He shook his head. It couldn't be. He was imagining it. Or maybe it was real, but it was just him. She'd be fine if he—

A cry of agony tore out of his throat and he fell over convulsing in the puddle of sick. In his head, a snakelike voice hissed crucio over and over. Crucio. The pain was exactly like the torture curse, but the assault was more than pain. It was hunger. Lust. Craving. Rage. He needed to…needed to…. Through his screams he heard the bed creaking and shaking like someone was jumping on it. He craned his neck against the involuntary impulses and saw Granger twitching and spasming so violently he feared she'd break her bones. It was the curse's punishment. That much he grasped, though he could hardly think. So, unconsciousness wouldn't save her. Ice picks stabbed between his vertebrae. His back arched and his sight darkened. His mouth filled with bile and metal. An invisible ligature seized his throat. Any last doubts fled that instant.

No!

He gagged for breath and clawed at his neck, but the pain and darkness grew thicker each second.

You win! You win! Please…. "Please," he croaked. As though something had heard him and listened, the pain ebbed just enough to let him breathe and control his limbs. He pushed himself off the soiled floor, shaking with hysterical laughter though tears were streaming down his face, and raised his arm toward his liquor cabinet.

"Accio firewhiskey."

A half-empty bottle flew into his outstretched hand. He nearly dropped it, but managed to hold on and dislodge the cork. Liquid courage, he derided, then took a swig. The smell of the liquor and vomit dug up memories he preferred to keep buried behind layers and layers of occlumency and denial, and he knew suddenly that his life had come full circle. This was all he was meant to be. Pathetic. Worthless piece of filth. A vile creature. He put the bottle to his mouth and flipped the bottom up, drinking until his stomach filled with the burning liquid. Then he dropped it on the floor and staggered to the bed.