[Fanfic Harry Potter] H o l l o w [Slash, SS x HP]
Rating: R or M for death
Disclaimer: All characters belonged to J.K Rowling or otherwise stated. The title and song were stolen from Submersed song titled 'Hollow'. This fic is not for profit.
Pairing: Severus Snape x Harry Potter
Warnings: Slash (male x male), angst, teacher/student, death fic (only if you read the second part)
Beta: Leila and Ziasudra
Summary: Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived with barrowed time. But he found his happy ending. He choose love.
A/N: Written for the Detention Snarry Ficathon for Spirit. The required requests were: teacher/student, virgin Harry.
I hope you like it ^^;
h o l l o w
by IncubusSuccubus
{word count: 986)
[ To you
I'm all I've left undone
I'm all I haven't won
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up
You take
The breath you didn't make
What's left you did forsake
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up my soul's so hollow ]
There was always blood in his hands. The darkest crimson colored his skin and black ink smeared his fingertips like smudge charcoal. Red tinted golden light inside of him burned cold.
Sometimes he thought the illusive blood was more frightening than the real ones. At least real scars would heal.
He looked and there was nothing. For him the darkness was his comfort and the light was sometimes too bright, too cheerful and too blinding. Everyone, everywhere, everything would go on and he would stay here and watch and be silenced and torn inside. He was their hero on the outside, like the ones you read about in cheap romance novels, where the hero defeats evil and always, always gets the girl.
But he was not even remotely interested in that genre, or gender for that matter.
But you did not know that do you?
To everybody everywhere he was nothing.
Sometimes, sometimes he could hear his friends cry out, “You’re Harry Potter!” It had been six years since that day but he could still hear the awed echoes bouncing against the wall in his brain. He could still remember their facial expression, from the jaw drop to the widened eyes and the inclination of the excited, adrenalin-rushed bodies.
All except one…
“Isn’t that right…Severus?” His body turned, his silhouette near the window - outlined by the moon- his eyes bright green with a slight of golden glaze. The tendrils of ghostly hands released his mind and retreated back to the shadowed owner.
The shadow in the corner kept its silence.
Green eyes flared and he said; mockingly, “Are you here to pick me up?”
The shadow chuckled without humor. That cold smirk that sent cold shivers throughout his body. The shadow’s black robes shifted as he glided easily toward his green-eyed prey. His pale hands struck and captured the insolent boy, but were surprisingly gentle when those strong arms wrapped around him. “No Potter,” the husky silken voice said. “I’m here to make you mine.”
If he expected fear, he didn’t feel it. His eyes were deviant, just the way his Potions Master liked it.
Severus Snape chuckled lowly, his chest rambled against Harry Potter’s.
“I’m not going to understand you am I? I don’t know you, Professor,” said Harry. “I don’t even know myself,” he continued, more quietly.
“You’re Harry Potter.”
Harry laughed dryly. “Harry Potter The Bloody Boy Who Lived.”
“No. You’re just Harry, the Boy Who Lived on barrowed time,” said the older man. “Not a hero, not a golden boy.”
“And here I thought you hate me, sir.”
“Hate, my boy? I suppose so. I hate you so much I want to tear you apart, claim you and make you bleed. Maybe then they will finally leave you alone and you’ll be mine.”
The arms around him tightened, almost choking him. This time Harry shivered for more than one reason. His blood was pumping loudly in his ear and his heart was beating hard against his chest.
Snape loosened his grip but he didn’t let go. They stayed like that for a moment, feeling each other’s inner heat spreading out towards cold skin. His hands weren’t idle for long as they knead the muscles on Harry’s back. “You like it, don’t you? You like the idea.” The boy’s eyes glistened and he could feel the heat radiating from the younger body into feverish pitch. He lowered his hand and cupped the boy’s buttock. “Would you dirty yourself for an old man like me, Potter?”
Harry’s breath came in small huffs. Panting, he mocked, “Oh yes, make me your slut, Professor.” His tone was sarcastic, but there was a grain of truth in it.
The dark man laughed softly with cruel delight. He grabbed the boy’s hips and grinded against the hardness in the boy’s front. The boy gasped and later moaned out loud. Snape hissed into Harry’s ear, “Oh yes, Potter, I will make you bleed.”
“Yes,” groaned Harry. “Please.”
Snape let out a growl and pushed the boy against the nearby wall. He brutally thrust and twisted and grounded his hard cock against Harry. Even with layers and layers of clothing, he could feel the hot pulse from the boy and could imagine silky feverish and red and purple skin as hard as steel. He was determined to be the boy’s first and last.
Harry’s breath hitched, he gasped and then he came. He clutched the older man and rode the waves of pleasure coursing through his body.
The boy’s body arched, taut like a bowstring, before it went limp and slowly slid down from Snape’s grip. But the Professor held the golden boy and thrust and soon his own climax followed, as he expected, explosively and wetly and sweaty and hot and oh so good.
They stopped moving, still gasping and still trying to calm their heartbeats, panting. Or at least Harry was. The older man was as cold and sadistic as ever even after they rut like animals in an abandoned room in the astronomy tower among rows of dusty and broken tables.
Slowly, the man withdrew from the boy, but pale, white and scared hands clutched the sleeve of his back robes. Harry’s green eyes flared brilliantly in the semi darkness, just like cats’ eyes. Luminous, like the jewels of the night. His own black eyes glittered as he smiled softly with uncharacteristic warmth. “Don’t worry. The night is not over yet.”
Harry let out a tentative and shy smile. “Make me bleed?”
He tipped his head to the side. “Of course.”
The magic cracked and snapped around them. The next thing Harry knew, they were in the Potions Master’s chamber, on the thick lush bed with dark green duvet. The dark man smiled and pushed the boy down as he lay beside him. He looked down at those eyes and knew that the boy was his.
__________________________________________________
A/N: if you don't want to read death fic you better stop here. Otherwise continue...
__________________________________________________
(Word count: 986)
The battle was an anti climax from all of the despair, the cries and the blood. Before anyone knew it, the maddening war was finally over. The insane psychopath was dead, body broken and soul destroyed. The Boy Who Lived was left, standing with his body and soul numb, but surprisingly relieved. When he turned around, he saw out of the corner of his eyes; the black figure with black thick robes smudged and soaked with blood. Not that he could tell the difference anyway, because red and black were almost the same value and he couldn’t tell the difference anyway.
Dawn was approaching, slivers of silver light peeking from beyond the horizon line.
He watched impassively as his friends, his extended family and his mentors approached him. So many had died but so many would live, though with a price. He smiled sadly and they smiled with him, although they didn’t understand why he was so sad after a victory over darkness. Because the hero should triumph over evil and should hold the bloodied sword up. And he would get the girl.
But, ah, he didn’t swing that way. Not anymore. Because sweet dreams and happy-ending fairytales were not made for a broken tool.
“Harry, my boy.” The blue eyes twinkled with pride.
“Headmaster.”
The old man shook his head. “Call me Albus, Harry. You are a hero. I would be honored if you call me by my name.”
Harry just shook his head and smiled, eyes lowered and hands on his sides.
But sir, he wanted to say, he was never a hero.
He was saved from responding by a pair of hands wrapped around him like a warm dusty old blanket. He was safe and he was home. Almost. And it was enough.
If Dumbledore’s face was white before, it was paler now. “Severus…”
The Potions Master smiled at the headmaster. “Albus.”
The others stood there, frozen with mixed feelings. The looks of varied degrees of horror were obvious on their faces.
“Harry! Stay away from him!” cried one Ronald Weasley. “We’re your family, Harry! Think of me, of my family. And Ginny! She loves you!”
It was always about everyone else, wasn’t it? It was not ‘think about Harry.’
“Harry! Come back with us! You’re my and Ron’s best friend!” said Hermione Granger, almost desperately. Because with her quick mind, she knew Harry was too ensnared within the dark man’s grasp.
But Hermione, he was never theirs to begin with.
“Harry my boy. You’re like a grandson to me…” said the Headmaster.
Was he?
And on and on, each of them tried to give a reason for the boy to come back to them, to step away from the evil Death Easter scum.
Harry just smiled, closed his eyes and furrowed deeper into the warm embrace, breathing the scent of lingering death in his professor’s robes.
Then there was silence as they stared at the strange picture of two enemies who were not quite enemies. Since when? They all thought.
“Let the boy go, Severus,” said the Headmaster. The twinkles were gone, replaced by cold fear.
The man shook his head. “No. You had promised me, Headmaster.”
“No, Severus! He’s just a boy! We need him here with his family and friends.”
Cold laughter echoed around the cemetery froze their blood. “Ah, but how many truly know the meaning of family and friendship for the boy, Albus? To all of you he was Harry Potter, the golden boy.” His chilling voice slithered into their mind, coiling their hearts. Because it was true. Harry Potter was their savior, their hero and they wanted their happy ending.
Harry opened his eyes and stared at them. Forgive me. He didn’t owe them anything anymore. I've done what I can. He had fulfilled his destiny. Let me go. He just wanted to be free. Release me. And free to choose his life and his love.
Please.
Dumbledore stared at the boy, then at the dark man he made a contract with sixteen years ago. “He is our hope,” whispered the weary old man. “Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived.”
“Ah, but Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived with borrowed time, Headmaster.”
The Aurors and the other members of the Order of Phoenix surged forward to seize them, or tried to. They stopped short when Snape raised his hand and a spear appeared from his palm in the shape of a long, gleaming silver scythe with black handle. He held the scythe horizontally, with the tip of the blade pointed at Dumbledore. “In exchange for all of you and your lives.”
The Headmaster’s shoulder slumped and his eyes were resigned. “The contract…”
“The Contract is absolute and thus, this boy is mine.”
Harry smiled blissfully and held onto the older man.
Snape smiled wickedly as he gathered the boy in his arms tightly. “I bid you goodbye.” The air around them went darker. “May all of you live in happiness.”
They all stared as the dark man billowed his robes around himself and the boy. The morning mist descended, thicker and thicker and like death enveloped them in a cocoon, swirling faster and faster until both of them was swallowed in darkness.
And Harry disappeared along with Death.
The old Headmaster slid down and tears started streaming down his wrinkled face, just like everyone else there. They clutched at each other, cried and despaired.
Just because…
Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived.
Lived to be the hero he was not.
Lived to be the savior he didn’t want to be.
Lived with borrowed time.
Because Harry Potter was the boy who lived to die.
In the end, he had loved and belonged and loved in return, even in death and with Death himself.
Did Harry find his happy ending?
He did.
In his own term, his own choice and his own death. Not just like another romance horror.
[ fin ]030504
[ To you
I'm all I've left undone
I'm all I haven't won
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up
You take
The breath you didn't make
What's left you did forsake
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
You can make me scream internally
You can make me breathe eternally
Yeah
You see
The things I cannot change
The things that make me plain
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up
We've made
All from the sum of none
All that we have become
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
You can make me scream internally
You can make me breathe eternally
You can make me scream internally
You can make me breathe eternally
Yeah
Fill, fill what's in me
Fill, fill what's in you
Fill, fill what's in me
So my soul's not left so hollow
You can make me SCREAM
You can make me BREATHE
You can make me scream internally
You can make me breathe eternally
You can make me scream
You can make me breathe
You can make me scream
You can make me breathe, me breathe
-- Hollow by Submersed
Disclaimer: All characters belonged to J.K Rowling or otherwise stated. The title and song were stolen from Submersed song titled 'Hollow'. This fic is not for profit.
Pairing: Severus Snape x Harry Potter
Warnings: Slash (male x male), angst, teacher/student, death fic (only if you read the second part)
Beta: Leila and Ziasudra
Summary: Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived with barrowed time. But he found his happy ending. He choose love.
A/N: Written for the Detention Snarry Ficathon for Spirit. The required requests were: teacher/student, virgin Harry.
I hope you like it ^^;
h o l l o w
by IncubusSuccubus
{word count: 986)
[ To you
I'm all I've left undone
I'm all I haven't won
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up
You take
The breath you didn't make
What's left you did forsake
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up my soul's so hollow ]
There was always blood in his hands. The darkest crimson colored his skin and black ink smeared his fingertips like smudge charcoal. Red tinted golden light inside of him burned cold.
Sometimes he thought the illusive blood was more frightening than the real ones. At least real scars would heal.
He looked and there was nothing. For him the darkness was his comfort and the light was sometimes too bright, too cheerful and too blinding. Everyone, everywhere, everything would go on and he would stay here and watch and be silenced and torn inside. He was their hero on the outside, like the ones you read about in cheap romance novels, where the hero defeats evil and always, always gets the girl.
But he was not even remotely interested in that genre, or gender for that matter.
But you did not know that do you?
To everybody everywhere he was nothing.
Sometimes, sometimes he could hear his friends cry out, “You’re Harry Potter!” It had been six years since that day but he could still hear the awed echoes bouncing against the wall in his brain. He could still remember their facial expression, from the jaw drop to the widened eyes and the inclination of the excited, adrenalin-rushed bodies.
All except one…
“Isn’t that right…Severus?” His body turned, his silhouette near the window - outlined by the moon- his eyes bright green with a slight of golden glaze. The tendrils of ghostly hands released his mind and retreated back to the shadowed owner.
The shadow in the corner kept its silence.
Green eyes flared and he said; mockingly, “Are you here to pick me up?”
The shadow chuckled without humor. That cold smirk that sent cold shivers throughout his body. The shadow’s black robes shifted as he glided easily toward his green-eyed prey. His pale hands struck and captured the insolent boy, but were surprisingly gentle when those strong arms wrapped around him. “No Potter,” the husky silken voice said. “I’m here to make you mine.”
If he expected fear, he didn’t feel it. His eyes were deviant, just the way his Potions Master liked it.
Severus Snape chuckled lowly, his chest rambled against Harry Potter’s.
“I’m not going to understand you am I? I don’t know you, Professor,” said Harry. “I don’t even know myself,” he continued, more quietly.
“You’re Harry Potter.”
Harry laughed dryly. “Harry Potter The Bloody Boy Who Lived.”
“No. You’re just Harry, the Boy Who Lived on barrowed time,” said the older man. “Not a hero, not a golden boy.”
“And here I thought you hate me, sir.”
“Hate, my boy? I suppose so. I hate you so much I want to tear you apart, claim you and make you bleed. Maybe then they will finally leave you alone and you’ll be mine.”
The arms around him tightened, almost choking him. This time Harry shivered for more than one reason. His blood was pumping loudly in his ear and his heart was beating hard against his chest.
Snape loosened his grip but he didn’t let go. They stayed like that for a moment, feeling each other’s inner heat spreading out towards cold skin. His hands weren’t idle for long as they knead the muscles on Harry’s back. “You like it, don’t you? You like the idea.” The boy’s eyes glistened and he could feel the heat radiating from the younger body into feverish pitch. He lowered his hand and cupped the boy’s buttock. “Would you dirty yourself for an old man like me, Potter?”
Harry’s breath came in small huffs. Panting, he mocked, “Oh yes, make me your slut, Professor.” His tone was sarcastic, but there was a grain of truth in it.
The dark man laughed softly with cruel delight. He grabbed the boy’s hips and grinded against the hardness in the boy’s front. The boy gasped and later moaned out loud. Snape hissed into Harry’s ear, “Oh yes, Potter, I will make you bleed.”
“Yes,” groaned Harry. “Please.”
Snape let out a growl and pushed the boy against the nearby wall. He brutally thrust and twisted and grounded his hard cock against Harry. Even with layers and layers of clothing, he could feel the hot pulse from the boy and could imagine silky feverish and red and purple skin as hard as steel. He was determined to be the boy’s first and last.
Harry’s breath hitched, he gasped and then he came. He clutched the older man and rode the waves of pleasure coursing through his body.
The boy’s body arched, taut like a bowstring, before it went limp and slowly slid down from Snape’s grip. But the Professor held the golden boy and thrust and soon his own climax followed, as he expected, explosively and wetly and sweaty and hot and oh so good.
They stopped moving, still gasping and still trying to calm their heartbeats, panting. Or at least Harry was. The older man was as cold and sadistic as ever even after they rut like animals in an abandoned room in the astronomy tower among rows of dusty and broken tables.
Slowly, the man withdrew from the boy, but pale, white and scared hands clutched the sleeve of his back robes. Harry’s green eyes flared brilliantly in the semi darkness, just like cats’ eyes. Luminous, like the jewels of the night. His own black eyes glittered as he smiled softly with uncharacteristic warmth. “Don’t worry. The night is not over yet.”
Harry let out a tentative and shy smile. “Make me bleed?”
He tipped his head to the side. “Of course.”
The magic cracked and snapped around them. The next thing Harry knew, they were in the Potions Master’s chamber, on the thick lush bed with dark green duvet. The dark man smiled and pushed the boy down as he lay beside him. He looked down at those eyes and knew that the boy was his.
__________________________________________________
A/N: if you don't want to read death fic you better stop here. Otherwise continue...
__________________________________________________
(Word count: 986)
The battle was an anti climax from all of the despair, the cries and the blood. Before anyone knew it, the maddening war was finally over. The insane psychopath was dead, body broken and soul destroyed. The Boy Who Lived was left, standing with his body and soul numb, but surprisingly relieved. When he turned around, he saw out of the corner of his eyes; the black figure with black thick robes smudged and soaked with blood. Not that he could tell the difference anyway, because red and black were almost the same value and he couldn’t tell the difference anyway.
Dawn was approaching, slivers of silver light peeking from beyond the horizon line.
He watched impassively as his friends, his extended family and his mentors approached him. So many had died but so many would live, though with a price. He smiled sadly and they smiled with him, although they didn’t understand why he was so sad after a victory over darkness. Because the hero should triumph over evil and should hold the bloodied sword up. And he would get the girl.
But, ah, he didn’t swing that way. Not anymore. Because sweet dreams and happy-ending fairytales were not made for a broken tool.
“Harry, my boy.” The blue eyes twinkled with pride.
“Headmaster.”
The old man shook his head. “Call me Albus, Harry. You are a hero. I would be honored if you call me by my name.”
Harry just shook his head and smiled, eyes lowered and hands on his sides.
But sir, he wanted to say, he was never a hero.
He was saved from responding by a pair of hands wrapped around him like a warm dusty old blanket. He was safe and he was home. Almost. And it was enough.
If Dumbledore’s face was white before, it was paler now. “Severus…”
The Potions Master smiled at the headmaster. “Albus.”
The others stood there, frozen with mixed feelings. The looks of varied degrees of horror were obvious on their faces.
“Harry! Stay away from him!” cried one Ronald Weasley. “We’re your family, Harry! Think of me, of my family. And Ginny! She loves you!”
It was always about everyone else, wasn’t it? It was not ‘think about Harry.’
“Harry! Come back with us! You’re my and Ron’s best friend!” said Hermione Granger, almost desperately. Because with her quick mind, she knew Harry was too ensnared within the dark man’s grasp.
But Hermione, he was never theirs to begin with.
“Harry my boy. You’re like a grandson to me…” said the Headmaster.
Was he?
And on and on, each of them tried to give a reason for the boy to come back to them, to step away from the evil Death Easter scum.
Harry just smiled, closed his eyes and furrowed deeper into the warm embrace, breathing the scent of lingering death in his professor’s robes.
Then there was silence as they stared at the strange picture of two enemies who were not quite enemies. Since when? They all thought.
“Let the boy go, Severus,” said the Headmaster. The twinkles were gone, replaced by cold fear.
The man shook his head. “No. You had promised me, Headmaster.”
“No, Severus! He’s just a boy! We need him here with his family and friends.”
Cold laughter echoed around the cemetery froze their blood. “Ah, but how many truly know the meaning of family and friendship for the boy, Albus? To all of you he was Harry Potter, the golden boy.” His chilling voice slithered into their mind, coiling their hearts. Because it was true. Harry Potter was their savior, their hero and they wanted their happy ending.
Harry opened his eyes and stared at them. Forgive me. He didn’t owe them anything anymore. I've done what I can. He had fulfilled his destiny. Let me go. He just wanted to be free. Release me. And free to choose his life and his love.
Please.
Dumbledore stared at the boy, then at the dark man he made a contract with sixteen years ago. “He is our hope,” whispered the weary old man. “Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived.”
“Ah, but Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived with borrowed time, Headmaster.”
The Aurors and the other members of the Order of Phoenix surged forward to seize them, or tried to. They stopped short when Snape raised his hand and a spear appeared from his palm in the shape of a long, gleaming silver scythe with black handle. He held the scythe horizontally, with the tip of the blade pointed at Dumbledore. “In exchange for all of you and your lives.”
The Headmaster’s shoulder slumped and his eyes were resigned. “The contract…”
“The Contract is absolute and thus, this boy is mine.”
Harry smiled blissfully and held onto the older man.
Snape smiled wickedly as he gathered the boy in his arms tightly. “I bid you goodbye.” The air around them went darker. “May all of you live in happiness.”
They all stared as the dark man billowed his robes around himself and the boy. The morning mist descended, thicker and thicker and like death enveloped them in a cocoon, swirling faster and faster until both of them was swallowed in darkness.
And Harry disappeared along with Death.
The old Headmaster slid down and tears started streaming down his wrinkled face, just like everyone else there. They clutched at each other, cried and despaired.
Just because…
Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived.
Lived to be the hero he was not.
Lived to be the savior he didn’t want to be.
Lived with borrowed time.
Because Harry Potter was the boy who lived to die.
In the end, he had loved and belonged and loved in return, even in death and with Death himself.
Did Harry find his happy ending?
He did.
In his own term, his own choice and his own death. Not just like another romance horror.
[ fin ]030504
[ To you
I'm all I've left undone
I'm all I haven't won
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up
You take
The breath you didn't make
What's left you did forsake
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
You can make me scream internally
You can make me breathe eternally
Yeah
You see
The things I cannot change
The things that make me plain
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up
We've made
All from the sum of none
All that we have become
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
Lift me up my soul's so hollow
You can make me scream internally
You can make me breathe eternally
You can make me scream internally
You can make me breathe eternally
Yeah
Fill, fill what's in me
Fill, fill what's in you
Fill, fill what's in me
So my soul's not left so hollow
You can make me SCREAM
You can make me BREATHE
You can make me scream internally
You can make me breathe eternally
You can make me scream
You can make me breathe
You can make me scream
You can make me breathe, me breathe
-- Hollow by Submersed