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keelywolfeA Lacking of Foresight: Chapter Nineteen
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Harry/Ron, implied Ron/Snape
~~*~~
In which an Auror remembers his school days; there is a long conversation with a professor of a different color; and a favor is called home to roost.
~~*~~
Ron made his way down the stairs as quickly as he could, trying to compose his thoughts. The staircase spiraled downward dizzily, the tapestries and paintings all watching him with shifting, curious eyes. Ron ignored them all and swiped a hand over his nose to check for any signs of blood. His fingers came away clean and he tossed the bloody napkin aside, muttering a charm. He didn't pause to watch it vanish.
There wasn't very much time. Students were starting to appear, hustling through in clumps and bunches like little clusters of uniformed grapes, on their way to the Great Hall or their classrooms. Ron walked faster, brushing past the children impatiently. One boy collided with him and nearly fell, books and papers cascading from his arms with a loud clatter. Ron didn't even pause and the boy's muttered curses faded from his ears as he quickly went down another set of stairs.
Even with the fireplaces blazing the dungeons had always been cooler than the rest of the castle, smelling dankly and reminding Ron of old socks. It grew stronger, sharper as he walked further in, steeling himself for what he was about to see. Or rather, whom.
It was like stepping back in time, only to find that had someone had managed to cast a shrinking charm on the entire world. The tables and chairs were so much smaller than he remembered, the bottle-lined shelves that still groaned under their burden, yellowish, frothing potions and ones that glowed thickly, potions as dark as old blood and some he recognized enough to call by name.
At the head of the room, watching him with dark, cold eyes was the Potions Master and Ron was reminded forcibly that he was no longer a student here. And Snape was very much not his teacher.
"Mr. Weasley, I was under the distinct impression that our conversation was finished." Snape flicked his eyes back down to the parchment he was writing on dismissively. Ron stepped further into the room and ran a hand over one of the smooth table that served as desks for the students, feeling very much as if he hadn't quite woken up that morning. This all seemed a little too much like a dream about his past, he and his friends at Hogwarts together, dreading Potions class.
"Well?" Snape snapped, slapping down his quill so hard that spatters of ink dotted his desk. "I trust you aren't simply here to disrupt my classes like you do Potter's."
No, he wasn't a child and he met Snape's angry gaze evenly. "You know why I'm here, Severus. I told you before, I need your help." At Snape's snort of disgust, Ron leaned against the desk and studied his nails in a mockery of carelessness. "Call it a favor."
"A favor," Snape repeated, slowly. It was truly an incredible sight, to see those black eyes turn colder still. Ron was quite certain that at that moment Snape could have hexed him without the benefit of a wand, and probably done a good job of it, too.
"For an old friend," Ron encouraged, mercilessly. If he had been a child he would have enjoyed Snape's whitened face, his helpless anger. He would have gone back to the Gryffindor common room bursting with vicious pleasure. As it was, a crueler bit of him was chortling in delight. It would have been a simple matter to press it deeper, to twist the insults in like a blade; he knew very well how to do it. A favor for a favor, and he had learned about that years ago.
But the rest of him ached as Snape's lips thinned into a familiar sneer. "Weasley, of the few things we have been to each other, I don't believe the word friend ever entered into it."
"No, I suppose not," Ron said glumly. Pathetic, really, how that made him feel, to hear that not even Snape wanted to call him a friend. Not much of a surprise though; friend was far too gentle a word to ever apply to Severus Snape.
"It seems to me that it's more of you trying to get a good turn from someone you slept with once," Snape said silkily, and Ron winced. His turn to cut out bloody pieces with sharp words, then. "And worse, you want the favor for the person you're sleeping with now." It made Ron wince again, to hear it like that. Not that it wasn't true or anything but saying it aloud made it sound amazingly tawdry. Well, if the worse he managed today was simply tawdry, he'd call it a fair price.
"What do you want then," Ron asked, reluctantly. He should have known from the start he'd be paying through the arse for this.
Snape's eyebrows swept upward into elegant arches. "Offering a favor in return then, well, this is a change." To his dismay, Snape took his time considering it, rearranging his perfectly neat desk in the pretense of tidying it, straightening quills and re-rolling parchment, until Ron could have screamed for him to bloody well get on with it. He'd already known Snape didn't have a class at this hour which was why he'd escaped down here but while Snape might have time to spare, Ron certainly didn't.
Just as Ron was nearly bouncing on his toes in impatience, Snape finally looked at him again. "I'm afraid I can only think of one thing you could offer me that might be acceptable," he said, smoothly. Ron had barely sighed his relief and nearly asked what it was when he realized exactly how Snape was looking at him. Or rather, exactly where Snape was looking at him.
Paying through the arse, indeed.
"You want me to have sex with you as a favor?" Ron blurted out. This was just not his day. He'd argued with his lover, his boss, and now he was apparently being mistaken for a Knockturn Alley two-knut. Honestly, he couldn't have been more shocked than if he'd discovered Snape had taken up nose-picking and belching as hobbies. It was all well and good to make a bit of an offer, but this!
"To pay for your favor," Snape corrected him. Ron scowled, unable to think of a way around that. It was true, he had asked for a favor first.
"So you want me to whore myself to you," he said flatly. One of the bottles in the corner of Snape's desk started rocking violently and tipped off the side. Snape caught it without even looking, setting it back in its place.
"Why not?" Snape inhaled slowly, hooding his eyes. He rested his chin on his folded hands, his voice lowering dangerously. "I did it once for you, didn't I."
"I rather thought that was a mutual favor," Ron said crossly. He should have known better than to come here. Hadn't he learned years ago that Snape had a different idea about fulfilling obligations than he did? It was the Slytherin in him that made him so bloody annoying, of that Ron was sure, but Snape had always managed to be a bastard on his own.
"Then perhaps you should ask Dumbledore for help." He plucked another quill from a stand and unrolled the parchment again, ignoring the speckles of ink that dotted it. A list of ingredients for some potion, Ron guessed, and he watched as Snape added, 'tuberworm warts' to the bottom. His slight smile was so utterly false Ron was sure he could take it off and tuck it into his pocket for another time. "I'm sure he'd be quite willing," Snape said airily.
"I know he would be," Ron snapped. But he couldn't trust Dumbledore to keep his mouth shut in the same way he could Severus. Oh, he was sure the headmaster was quite good at keeping a secret, but only when he thought the secret was one that should be kept. Snape would let someone die if he thought there was cause for it. Or he would keep someone from dying for the same reason, even to the point of his own death if it came to that. It was something Ron had learned to respect about him; if nothing else, Snape did what he believed was right and would not waver from that path.
It was a shame that his definition of right didn't cross paths with Ron's quite often enough, and he knew that the blasted git meant what he'd said, and it made the comfortably full feeling in his stomach from breakfast turn over into bloated sickness. This was so blasted important and it was just for this one night, just one more night and he could leave Hogwarts and there would be no more exams, not until the summer was over and...
Ron blinked and shook his head, no, he didn't have exams, he wasn't a student, and he wasn't going to be late to Transfigurations, not if he hurried, Professor McGonagall wouldn't give him detention if he came in only a few minutes past. He took a stumbling step backwards, Snape's face swimming in his vision and he could taste copper, wetness flowing down his face in a rush of warmth, the constant low hum in the back of his mind swelled into a roar, a shriek, and he couldn't hear, couldn't breathe and they were on him now, thousands of idle thoughts blurring into hideous, clawed shadows that tore into him.
His palms were damp and Ron dimly hated the feeling, squeezing his hands into fists as the world seemed to curdle around him. Something jerked him around, more pain cushioned into the rest of it, an echo that fell away only to have a hundred others rushing into the vacant place and, it must be like dying or being born, surrounded by explosions in a rushing sea of nothingness and suddenly there was nothing, nothing but blessed darkness and Ron sank into it gratefully.
~~*~~
He woke slowly, his Sight already curled within him like a fetus, trying to offer whatever feeble strength he still possessed as some kind of protection and he pushed out instinctively, flailing desperately to keep everything out and touched...nothing. Swallowed for a moment in pure emptiness and it ached, strangely, like a lost limb might but it was also a relief because emptiness wasn't pain and for right now, that was good enough.
Ron carefully moved his head, just enough to make sure it was still attached. Nothing fell off that he could tell so he opened his eyes warily, blinking in surprise at the darkness around him. His eyes slowly adjusted and Ron realized he was in a room, lying on a bed. Gingerly, still half expecting the terrible noise to rise inside his head again, Ron pulled back the bed curtains and looked straight into the face of Severus Snape.
He was sitting in a large, cushioned chair next to the bed, his back to the fireplace where the only light in the room flowed out gently. It was hard to speak, Ron's throat clicked dryly as he tried to swallow, staring into Snape's white, still face, his glittering eyes the only sign of life in the man.
"Wha...wha happened," Ron slurred out. He tried to sift though his memories, wincing as he touched a spot where they were cut off raggedly inside his head and he lingered over it like one might run their tongue over a sore tooth. No, he was alone in his head. He tried to focus just a little and winced at the sudden heat that washed over him.
Slowly, Snape stood and Ron couldn't stop himself from cringing as he rose over him, his anger lending him height until he seemed more like Hagrid's size than his own. "You fool!" Snape whispered harshly through bloodless lips. "You blithering, half-witted, incompetent..."
"Quit flirting and just tell me," Ron interrupted before he really began his tirade. There was so much venom in Snape's glare it was a wonder he didn't collapse again, stricken dead from pure hatred.
"I believe you know exactly what happened, Weasley," Snape said coldly. He whirled away, his cloak fluttering behind him and for a moment Ron thought he was leaving him alone. Then he heard the sound of water being poured and a glass was shoved unceremoniously into his hand. Hastily, he drank from it while Snape watched him grimly. "I'm more curious as to why it happened. Did you really think there weren't any secured places in Hogwarts?" he asked scathingly.
"I..." Ron blinked, still trying to gather his wits together into a manageable parcel. "I know McGonagall had one made in one of the classrooms for me while they trained me, but they dispersed that after I left. Too difficult to keep the wards from degrading..." Ron let it trail away when Snape's expression darkened further, his eyes stony.
When Snape spoke again, each word dropped precisely from his lips like a chip of ice. "Perhaps if you were intelligent enough to simply think, you would realize that I require similar wards. Moronic imbecile," he added, not quite under his breath.
Ron closed his eyes at his own stupidity. Of course Snape would need wards to rest properly, though his problem was more a reverse of Ron's. It wouldn't matter to the magic what the exact problem was; all that matter was that it would be a barrier to keep away unwanted things. He shrugged, unwilling to admit to his own idiocy. "You didn't seem to be in much of a mood to answer questions."
The last of the water finally eased his parched throat and Snape took the glass away and set it on a small table near the bed. "Can you feel anything at all?" Snape asked. He pushed up one of Ron's eyelids and peered inside thoughtfully
"Just you," Ron said irritably, batting his hands away. He thought that much should be obvious. Snape would know the wards better than he did.
Now that he was looking he could see them on the walls, large twisting shapes that shimmered faintly, cutting through the gloom. This must be Snape's private room, he realized. Aside from the bed, which was curtained with dark swathes of velvet, he could see bookshelves crowded into the room, their shelves cluttered with haphazard stacks of books and the odd scroll of parchment. An armoire squatted in one corner, the wood dark and heavy and a ratty armchair sat comfortably in front of the fireplace. Odd, he'd always thought Snape would be quite a tidy person.
He sat up further, trying to get a better look at the room and the coverlet slipped down to his hips. With a yelp, he yanked it back up to his chin. "Why am I naked?" he asked furiously, further humiliated to feel himself redden and he cursed his fair skin.
Far from looking angry, Snape was watching him with great interest. He asked, lazily, "You didn't really think I was going to put you in my bed in those bloody clothes?"
"I didn't think you were going to put me in your bed at all!"
"Whyever not? You've certainly been there before."
Ron startled at the touch of a hand on his shoulder, long fingers leaving trails of coolness against his bare skin. A protest lodged on the back of his tongue, the sudden visceral wash of lust/need overwhelmed him, demanding something from him. The startling feel of lips against his own, a cool, slick tongue pressing into his mouth and he dizzily allowed it. He shuddered, unable to pull away, webbed inside by desire that wasn't entirely his own. Fingers slid into the untidy mass of his hair, holding his head still for harsh kisses, crushing his lips against his teeth until he parted them again and was devoured.
The heavy sense of gloating swam thickly in his senses, maliciously sweet triumph and he sank back against the sheets, dimly aware of the pressure of a body above him. Salt-warm skin brushed his cheek and Ron mouthed it blindly, down the line of the neck to taste the jutting edge of a collarbone through heavy cloth. A low moan that wasn't his own and a hand swept over his chest, cool fingers lingering over his nipple until they twisted into a cruel pinch. He cried out, instinctively arching his back in a plea for more. His own hands were clumsy, tugging stupidly at buttons that refused to part and Ron whimpered helplessly, begging without words for help. The hand against his chest moved and caught his own hands, stilling them.
"Let me," whispered against his mouth, Severus, he remembered faintly, he was in Severus's room, in his bed and..wait..wait...the cloth parting beneath his hands and he was suddenly touching bare skin, pale and smooth.
"Stop," he tried to say, his mouth barely forming the word, weakly trying to draw up his mental shields. They were too worn, tattered to gossamer from their earlier battering and that desire swarmed him again. The coverlet had shifted, sliding down past his hips and Ron gasped at the feel of Severus's mouth against his belly, his teeth sharp against tender skin.
"No," Ron pleaded, shaking his head against the pillow, his hair shifting loudly against his ears. He caught at Snape's shoulders, trying not to clutch him closer, trying to find a way to push. Desire as hot as bluebell flames licked at him, hotter even than Snape's tongue investigating his navel and had it really been so long, the last time they were together like this, so terribly easy to lay back and feel the harsh triumph of desire, to watch Snape's spit-shiny lips sink lower still, just like Harry had that morning in the...
Harry's eyes, hating him, deep, bleeding pain and he knew, all his secrets skinned and laid bare before him, and there was only hate, only for Ron, blackened, charred emotions and Ron could feel nothing, nothing for him but rage.
"I thought you told me you didn't get off on rape," Ron spat, forcing himself to stop feeling that sweet burn because all fucking hell, it wasn't his.
Snape froze above him and lifted his head, meeting Ron's cold stare. With remarkable poise, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pulling deliberately away from Ron. It carried him up to the edge of the bed and Snape sat there for a long time, struggling to compose himself. Ron said nothing, trying desperately not to feel what he knew Snape was feeling, more than a little terrified he'd drag Severus back to him and just wallow in mindless forgetfulness.
"Do you know," Snape grated, his voice as jagged as broken glass. "How galling it is for me to know you're upstairs bedding him like the little slut you are, only to come prancing down here to beg favors of me?" His sudden laugh was a bitter draught, tainted with something like hatred. "Your whorish nature would seem to be the only family trait you have left, Weasley. Tell me, how does it feel to have him fuck you?" He turned to look at Ron, his clothes still opened, exposing a tempting line of skin. Snape's voice changed sinuously, low and dangerous. "Is he shy and nervous, our Mr. Potter? Does he make you beg for it before he gives it to you? Does he make you scream?"
"I love him," Ron whispered, helplessly. Snape reeled back as if slapped, so pale that he seemed to fade into the darkness. Abruptly, he stood, straightening his clothing briskly.
"Rest here for awhile," he said shortly. "The wards will help you. I have classes to attend to."
"Severus..." At the sound of his name, Snape seemed to explode, deep color blossoming in his cheeks and Ron hissed in pain at the pure, clean rage of it, untainted by any gentler emotions.
"You no longer have a right to the usage of my name," Snape hissed. His thin lips curved suddenly into a cruel smile. "You wanted a favor from an old friend? You shall have it. And in exchange, I'd ask that you never approach me again, certainly never call me friend and when he leaves you alone," The smile deepened, edge with something Ron didn't dare name, "And he will. You shall do the same for me."
"I..." Ron started, halting as Snape's glaring eyes warned him against protests even as his own triumph rose sickly within. He'd known Snape would do it. He'd always known.
"Do we have a deal?"
"Yes," Ron said, resigned. Snape nodded curtly and walked towards the door.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Ron whispered and Snape stopped stiffly, his hand on the doorknob.
"Hurt me?" he said, his voice low, then louder, "Hurt me?" Ron had the distinct impression that Snape was stifling a laugh. "My dear Mr. Weasley, hurting me should be the least of your worries. It should be--how did you phrase it? Not even on your reserve list. There is very little you could do that would hurt me." The door closed behind him softly.
"Liar," Ron told the empty room. It didn't answer, and only the light of the fireplace spoke to him, of familiarity and hominess, and Ron hated it for that, irrationally, even as he craved the warmth, bitterly envious because sometimes he didn't recognize himself.
He sank back into the bed, dimly hoping that Hermione and Harry weren't missing him yet because the chance to sleep with no thoughts in his head but his own was far too tempting. Even the taste of his own guilt wasn't enough to distract him from the gentle call of peacefulness.
End chapter nineteen
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Harry/Ron, implied Ron/Snape
~~*~~
In which an Auror remembers his school days; there is a long conversation with a professor of a different color; and a favor is called home to roost.
~~*~~
Ron made his way down the stairs as quickly as he could, trying to compose his thoughts. The staircase spiraled downward dizzily, the tapestries and paintings all watching him with shifting, curious eyes. Ron ignored them all and swiped a hand over his nose to check for any signs of blood. His fingers came away clean and he tossed the bloody napkin aside, muttering a charm. He didn't pause to watch it vanish.
There wasn't very much time. Students were starting to appear, hustling through in clumps and bunches like little clusters of uniformed grapes, on their way to the Great Hall or their classrooms. Ron walked faster, brushing past the children impatiently. One boy collided with him and nearly fell, books and papers cascading from his arms with a loud clatter. Ron didn't even pause and the boy's muttered curses faded from his ears as he quickly went down another set of stairs.
Even with the fireplaces blazing the dungeons had always been cooler than the rest of the castle, smelling dankly and reminding Ron of old socks. It grew stronger, sharper as he walked further in, steeling himself for what he was about to see. Or rather, whom.
It was like stepping back in time, only to find that had someone had managed to cast a shrinking charm on the entire world. The tables and chairs were so much smaller than he remembered, the bottle-lined shelves that still groaned under their burden, yellowish, frothing potions and ones that glowed thickly, potions as dark as old blood and some he recognized enough to call by name.
At the head of the room, watching him with dark, cold eyes was the Potions Master and Ron was reminded forcibly that he was no longer a student here. And Snape was very much not his teacher.
"Mr. Weasley, I was under the distinct impression that our conversation was finished." Snape flicked his eyes back down to the parchment he was writing on dismissively. Ron stepped further into the room and ran a hand over one of the smooth table that served as desks for the students, feeling very much as if he hadn't quite woken up that morning. This all seemed a little too much like a dream about his past, he and his friends at Hogwarts together, dreading Potions class.
"Well?" Snape snapped, slapping down his quill so hard that spatters of ink dotted his desk. "I trust you aren't simply here to disrupt my classes like you do Potter's."
No, he wasn't a child and he met Snape's angry gaze evenly. "You know why I'm here, Severus. I told you before, I need your help." At Snape's snort of disgust, Ron leaned against the desk and studied his nails in a mockery of carelessness. "Call it a favor."
"A favor," Snape repeated, slowly. It was truly an incredible sight, to see those black eyes turn colder still. Ron was quite certain that at that moment Snape could have hexed him without the benefit of a wand, and probably done a good job of it, too.
"For an old friend," Ron encouraged, mercilessly. If he had been a child he would have enjoyed Snape's whitened face, his helpless anger. He would have gone back to the Gryffindor common room bursting with vicious pleasure. As it was, a crueler bit of him was chortling in delight. It would have been a simple matter to press it deeper, to twist the insults in like a blade; he knew very well how to do it. A favor for a favor, and he had learned about that years ago.
But the rest of him ached as Snape's lips thinned into a familiar sneer. "Weasley, of the few things we have been to each other, I don't believe the word friend ever entered into it."
"No, I suppose not," Ron said glumly. Pathetic, really, how that made him feel, to hear that not even Snape wanted to call him a friend. Not much of a surprise though; friend was far too gentle a word to ever apply to Severus Snape.
"It seems to me that it's more of you trying to get a good turn from someone you slept with once," Snape said silkily, and Ron winced. His turn to cut out bloody pieces with sharp words, then. "And worse, you want the favor for the person you're sleeping with now." It made Ron wince again, to hear it like that. Not that it wasn't true or anything but saying it aloud made it sound amazingly tawdry. Well, if the worse he managed today was simply tawdry, he'd call it a fair price.
"What do you want then," Ron asked, reluctantly. He should have known from the start he'd be paying through the arse for this.
Snape's eyebrows swept upward into elegant arches. "Offering a favor in return then, well, this is a change." To his dismay, Snape took his time considering it, rearranging his perfectly neat desk in the pretense of tidying it, straightening quills and re-rolling parchment, until Ron could have screamed for him to bloody well get on with it. He'd already known Snape didn't have a class at this hour which was why he'd escaped down here but while Snape might have time to spare, Ron certainly didn't.
Just as Ron was nearly bouncing on his toes in impatience, Snape finally looked at him again. "I'm afraid I can only think of one thing you could offer me that might be acceptable," he said, smoothly. Ron had barely sighed his relief and nearly asked what it was when he realized exactly how Snape was looking at him. Or rather, exactly where Snape was looking at him.
Paying through the arse, indeed.
"You want me to have sex with you as a favor?" Ron blurted out. This was just not his day. He'd argued with his lover, his boss, and now he was apparently being mistaken for a Knockturn Alley two-knut. Honestly, he couldn't have been more shocked than if he'd discovered Snape had taken up nose-picking and belching as hobbies. It was all well and good to make a bit of an offer, but this!
"To pay for your favor," Snape corrected him. Ron scowled, unable to think of a way around that. It was true, he had asked for a favor first.
"So you want me to whore myself to you," he said flatly. One of the bottles in the corner of Snape's desk started rocking violently and tipped off the side. Snape caught it without even looking, setting it back in its place.
"Why not?" Snape inhaled slowly, hooding his eyes. He rested his chin on his folded hands, his voice lowering dangerously. "I did it once for you, didn't I."
"I rather thought that was a mutual favor," Ron said crossly. He should have known better than to come here. Hadn't he learned years ago that Snape had a different idea about fulfilling obligations than he did? It was the Slytherin in him that made him so bloody annoying, of that Ron was sure, but Snape had always managed to be a bastard on his own.
"Then perhaps you should ask Dumbledore for help." He plucked another quill from a stand and unrolled the parchment again, ignoring the speckles of ink that dotted it. A list of ingredients for some potion, Ron guessed, and he watched as Snape added, 'tuberworm warts' to the bottom. His slight smile was so utterly false Ron was sure he could take it off and tuck it into his pocket for another time. "I'm sure he'd be quite willing," Snape said airily.
"I know he would be," Ron snapped. But he couldn't trust Dumbledore to keep his mouth shut in the same way he could Severus. Oh, he was sure the headmaster was quite good at keeping a secret, but only when he thought the secret was one that should be kept. Snape would let someone die if he thought there was cause for it. Or he would keep someone from dying for the same reason, even to the point of his own death if it came to that. It was something Ron had learned to respect about him; if nothing else, Snape did what he believed was right and would not waver from that path.
It was a shame that his definition of right didn't cross paths with Ron's quite often enough, and he knew that the blasted git meant what he'd said, and it made the comfortably full feeling in his stomach from breakfast turn over into bloated sickness. This was so blasted important and it was just for this one night, just one more night and he could leave Hogwarts and there would be no more exams, not until the summer was over and...
Ron blinked and shook his head, no, he didn't have exams, he wasn't a student, and he wasn't going to be late to Transfigurations, not if he hurried, Professor McGonagall wouldn't give him detention if he came in only a few minutes past. He took a stumbling step backwards, Snape's face swimming in his vision and he could taste copper, wetness flowing down his face in a rush of warmth, the constant low hum in the back of his mind swelled into a roar, a shriek, and he couldn't hear, couldn't breathe and they were on him now, thousands of idle thoughts blurring into hideous, clawed shadows that tore into him.
His palms were damp and Ron dimly hated the feeling, squeezing his hands into fists as the world seemed to curdle around him. Something jerked him around, more pain cushioned into the rest of it, an echo that fell away only to have a hundred others rushing into the vacant place and, it must be like dying or being born, surrounded by explosions in a rushing sea of nothingness and suddenly there was nothing, nothing but blessed darkness and Ron sank into it gratefully.
~~*~~
He woke slowly, his Sight already curled within him like a fetus, trying to offer whatever feeble strength he still possessed as some kind of protection and he pushed out instinctively, flailing desperately to keep everything out and touched...nothing. Swallowed for a moment in pure emptiness and it ached, strangely, like a lost limb might but it was also a relief because emptiness wasn't pain and for right now, that was good enough.
Ron carefully moved his head, just enough to make sure it was still attached. Nothing fell off that he could tell so he opened his eyes warily, blinking in surprise at the darkness around him. His eyes slowly adjusted and Ron realized he was in a room, lying on a bed. Gingerly, still half expecting the terrible noise to rise inside his head again, Ron pulled back the bed curtains and looked straight into the face of Severus Snape.
He was sitting in a large, cushioned chair next to the bed, his back to the fireplace where the only light in the room flowed out gently. It was hard to speak, Ron's throat clicked dryly as he tried to swallow, staring into Snape's white, still face, his glittering eyes the only sign of life in the man.
"Wha...wha happened," Ron slurred out. He tried to sift though his memories, wincing as he touched a spot where they were cut off raggedly inside his head and he lingered over it like one might run their tongue over a sore tooth. No, he was alone in his head. He tried to focus just a little and winced at the sudden heat that washed over him.
Slowly, Snape stood and Ron couldn't stop himself from cringing as he rose over him, his anger lending him height until he seemed more like Hagrid's size than his own. "You fool!" Snape whispered harshly through bloodless lips. "You blithering, half-witted, incompetent..."
"Quit flirting and just tell me," Ron interrupted before he really began his tirade. There was so much venom in Snape's glare it was a wonder he didn't collapse again, stricken dead from pure hatred.
"I believe you know exactly what happened, Weasley," Snape said coldly. He whirled away, his cloak fluttering behind him and for a moment Ron thought he was leaving him alone. Then he heard the sound of water being poured and a glass was shoved unceremoniously into his hand. Hastily, he drank from it while Snape watched him grimly. "I'm more curious as to why it happened. Did you really think there weren't any secured places in Hogwarts?" he asked scathingly.
"I..." Ron blinked, still trying to gather his wits together into a manageable parcel. "I know McGonagall had one made in one of the classrooms for me while they trained me, but they dispersed that after I left. Too difficult to keep the wards from degrading..." Ron let it trail away when Snape's expression darkened further, his eyes stony.
When Snape spoke again, each word dropped precisely from his lips like a chip of ice. "Perhaps if you were intelligent enough to simply think, you would realize that I require similar wards. Moronic imbecile," he added, not quite under his breath.
Ron closed his eyes at his own stupidity. Of course Snape would need wards to rest properly, though his problem was more a reverse of Ron's. It wouldn't matter to the magic what the exact problem was; all that matter was that it would be a barrier to keep away unwanted things. He shrugged, unwilling to admit to his own idiocy. "You didn't seem to be in much of a mood to answer questions."
The last of the water finally eased his parched throat and Snape took the glass away and set it on a small table near the bed. "Can you feel anything at all?" Snape asked. He pushed up one of Ron's eyelids and peered inside thoughtfully
"Just you," Ron said irritably, batting his hands away. He thought that much should be obvious. Snape would know the wards better than he did.
Now that he was looking he could see them on the walls, large twisting shapes that shimmered faintly, cutting through the gloom. This must be Snape's private room, he realized. Aside from the bed, which was curtained with dark swathes of velvet, he could see bookshelves crowded into the room, their shelves cluttered with haphazard stacks of books and the odd scroll of parchment. An armoire squatted in one corner, the wood dark and heavy and a ratty armchair sat comfortably in front of the fireplace. Odd, he'd always thought Snape would be quite a tidy person.
He sat up further, trying to get a better look at the room and the coverlet slipped down to his hips. With a yelp, he yanked it back up to his chin. "Why am I naked?" he asked furiously, further humiliated to feel himself redden and he cursed his fair skin.
Far from looking angry, Snape was watching him with great interest. He asked, lazily, "You didn't really think I was going to put you in my bed in those bloody clothes?"
"I didn't think you were going to put me in your bed at all!"
"Whyever not? You've certainly been there before."
Ron startled at the touch of a hand on his shoulder, long fingers leaving trails of coolness against his bare skin. A protest lodged on the back of his tongue, the sudden visceral wash of lust/need overwhelmed him, demanding something from him. The startling feel of lips against his own, a cool, slick tongue pressing into his mouth and he dizzily allowed it. He shuddered, unable to pull away, webbed inside by desire that wasn't entirely his own. Fingers slid into the untidy mass of his hair, holding his head still for harsh kisses, crushing his lips against his teeth until he parted them again and was devoured.
The heavy sense of gloating swam thickly in his senses, maliciously sweet triumph and he sank back against the sheets, dimly aware of the pressure of a body above him. Salt-warm skin brushed his cheek and Ron mouthed it blindly, down the line of the neck to taste the jutting edge of a collarbone through heavy cloth. A low moan that wasn't his own and a hand swept over his chest, cool fingers lingering over his nipple until they twisted into a cruel pinch. He cried out, instinctively arching his back in a plea for more. His own hands were clumsy, tugging stupidly at buttons that refused to part and Ron whimpered helplessly, begging without words for help. The hand against his chest moved and caught his own hands, stilling them.
"Let me," whispered against his mouth, Severus, he remembered faintly, he was in Severus's room, in his bed and..wait..wait...the cloth parting beneath his hands and he was suddenly touching bare skin, pale and smooth.
"Stop," he tried to say, his mouth barely forming the word, weakly trying to draw up his mental shields. They were too worn, tattered to gossamer from their earlier battering and that desire swarmed him again. The coverlet had shifted, sliding down past his hips and Ron gasped at the feel of Severus's mouth against his belly, his teeth sharp against tender skin.
"No," Ron pleaded, shaking his head against the pillow, his hair shifting loudly against his ears. He caught at Snape's shoulders, trying not to clutch him closer, trying to find a way to push. Desire as hot as bluebell flames licked at him, hotter even than Snape's tongue investigating his navel and had it really been so long, the last time they were together like this, so terribly easy to lay back and feel the harsh triumph of desire, to watch Snape's spit-shiny lips sink lower still, just like Harry had that morning in the...
Harry's eyes, hating him, deep, bleeding pain and he knew, all his secrets skinned and laid bare before him, and there was only hate, only for Ron, blackened, charred emotions and Ron could feel nothing, nothing for him but rage.
"I thought you told me you didn't get off on rape," Ron spat, forcing himself to stop feeling that sweet burn because all fucking hell, it wasn't his.
Snape froze above him and lifted his head, meeting Ron's cold stare. With remarkable poise, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pulling deliberately away from Ron. It carried him up to the edge of the bed and Snape sat there for a long time, struggling to compose himself. Ron said nothing, trying desperately not to feel what he knew Snape was feeling, more than a little terrified he'd drag Severus back to him and just wallow in mindless forgetfulness.
"Do you know," Snape grated, his voice as jagged as broken glass. "How galling it is for me to know you're upstairs bedding him like the little slut you are, only to come prancing down here to beg favors of me?" His sudden laugh was a bitter draught, tainted with something like hatred. "Your whorish nature would seem to be the only family trait you have left, Weasley. Tell me, how does it feel to have him fuck you?" He turned to look at Ron, his clothes still opened, exposing a tempting line of skin. Snape's voice changed sinuously, low and dangerous. "Is he shy and nervous, our Mr. Potter? Does he make you beg for it before he gives it to you? Does he make you scream?"
"I love him," Ron whispered, helplessly. Snape reeled back as if slapped, so pale that he seemed to fade into the darkness. Abruptly, he stood, straightening his clothing briskly.
"Rest here for awhile," he said shortly. "The wards will help you. I have classes to attend to."
"Severus..." At the sound of his name, Snape seemed to explode, deep color blossoming in his cheeks and Ron hissed in pain at the pure, clean rage of it, untainted by any gentler emotions.
"You no longer have a right to the usage of my name," Snape hissed. His thin lips curved suddenly into a cruel smile. "You wanted a favor from an old friend? You shall have it. And in exchange, I'd ask that you never approach me again, certainly never call me friend and when he leaves you alone," The smile deepened, edge with something Ron didn't dare name, "And he will. You shall do the same for me."
"I..." Ron started, halting as Snape's glaring eyes warned him against protests even as his own triumph rose sickly within. He'd known Snape would do it. He'd always known.
"Do we have a deal?"
"Yes," Ron said, resigned. Snape nodded curtly and walked towards the door.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Ron whispered and Snape stopped stiffly, his hand on the doorknob.
"Hurt me?" he said, his voice low, then louder, "Hurt me?" Ron had the distinct impression that Snape was stifling a laugh. "My dear Mr. Weasley, hurting me should be the least of your worries. It should be--how did you phrase it? Not even on your reserve list. There is very little you could do that would hurt me." The door closed behind him softly.
"Liar," Ron told the empty room. It didn't answer, and only the light of the fireplace spoke to him, of familiarity and hominess, and Ron hated it for that, irrationally, even as he craved the warmth, bitterly envious because sometimes he didn't recognize himself.
He sank back into the bed, dimly hoping that Hermione and Harry weren't missing him yet because the chance to sleep with no thoughts in his head but his own was far too tempting. Even the taste of his own guilt wasn't enough to distract him from the gentle call of peacefulness.
End chapter nineteen
