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Title: Volition
Rating: R
Author’s Notes: Believe it or not, this is the very first bit of fan fic I ever wrote. I have never been able to bring myself to post it until now. So here it is. This takes place during Harry's 5th year. This is a bit darker than you're used to from me. Great big thanks to my betas [livejournal.com profile] bar_bar_ella & [livejournal.com profile] vibishan and to my britpicker [livejournal.com profile] misstemperance. They are infallible. Any and all mistakes are mine.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Depicted herein are beloved characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling and all those who are legally attached to the Harry Potter franchise.




Snape sat, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He shivered. Highlights of the evening’s events flashed in his mind. These excursions weighed heavily on him. But he wasn’t allowed to dwell, was he?

Poppy Pomfrey was the only one ever to see him this way. Only she saw the broken, fragile, disturbed, confused Severus. Dumbledore always managed to show up only after she’d worked her magic on him.

Snape sat on a bench in the main corridor of the hospital wing putting off the inevitable. He normally walked straight into a back exam room and notified Poppy of his arrival. But he couldn’t do it just yet. Facing her meant facing his demons. He barely maintained himself enough to get there. Once she began to tenderly nurse his wounds, he nearly always fell apart. He could no more endure her undeserved compassion than the effects of that unforgivable curse the Dark Lord enjoyed inflicting on even his most loyal servants. Snape breathed deeply, stilling his trembling hands. A bloodied cloak and mask lay in a heap beside him.

Snape loathed emotional outbursts. He considered them weak. He hated losing control. He was sure this was going to be a rough night. He was not eager to get on with it. He’d never understand how she was able to deal with his blatherings and abuses and still show him respect. How was it he could look her in the eye?

‘We all play our roles to perfection,’ thought Snape. Scotch, dreamless sleep draught, scotch, a pity fuck, scotch, more scotch. ‘All things I need,’ he thought. But in that order? He didn’t know. Perhaps more scotch to start out.

Snape breathed deeply and exhaled through his mouth. Oh Gods, another wave, a tremor. He shuddered. Their faces. Those helpless Muggles. Those blasted Muggles! He hated that he loved when the screaming stopped. The gurgle of someone choking on their own blood whilst mid-scream had always intrigued him. Now…he vomited between his feet.

He thought to himself he must remember to ask Dumbledore how it helps the Cause that he continue to torture and murder people. Just then he heard the very familiar clucking of Madam Pomfrey.

“Severus, you know better than to sit out here where anyone can see you. How would we explain to the students their Potions Master covered in blood?” With a wave of her wand, she cleaned up his sick.

“Come now, Poppy. Half of them already believe me to be a vampire. Besides, where should I be covered in blood if not the hospital?” Madam Pomfrey gathered the bloodied cloak and mask and gently took Snape by the arm to the usual back room utilised for these encounters.

She began by disrobing him to find any wounds he might have. Snape watched as she went about removing his clothing and examining his body.

“Cruciatus again, Severus?”

“Yes, a bit. The Dark Lord was displeased we did not meet his desired expectations. It seems it is never enough, no matter how many Muggles we kill or how many Ministry officials we torture.” Madam Pomfrey shuddered. Snape watched as she continued to administer to his wounds, humming as she often did. It was too easy, too normal and it was driving Snape mad.

He continued to watch Poppy. He could feel the tangle of emotions rising. It wouldn’t be long now. She stood before him. She gently turned his head down and examined various cuts and bumps on his scalp. His eyes were level with her bosom.

A flash. A woman. A mother screaming as her children were torn from her side and the foetus ripped from her womb. She screamed. She screamed with such pain, such rage, so furiously. When she ran out of air her scream turned to a sickly growl. Snape had heard so many screams from many victims, but this woman’s screams were particular in their resonance. She clawed and struck at Snape in delirious fury. He opened his robes and bared his chest to her. She leapt at the new flesh. She scraped and bit and kicked anywhere she could. Snape revelled in the pain she reaped and the blood she brought forth while her screams washed over him. He needed this. His only hope for absolution.

“Snape!” A voice had called out. “It’s time to go. Stop mucking about and get rid of her. We’ve got what we need from the others. She’s useless. Bring the foetus.” Snape raised his wand and the screaming stopped. The woman crumpled to the ground in a lifeless pile of flesh. Snape looked upon the foetus clutched in his hand.

Snape screamed and grabbed at Pomfrey’s robes. As she tended to the wounds on his head, he clutched at her and pulled her onto him. He buried his head into her breasts and sobbed. His frenzied hold on her soon turned into desperate groping and his sobs turned to weak whimpers. His mouth opened to explore her body through her robes. His teeth clamped down on a nipple.

Pomfrey yelped, “Stop, Severus! Stop!” Poppy managed to push Snape away enough to point her wand. He slapped the wand away. Snape had Poppy in such a clinch she was having difficulty breathing. She struggled to remain calm and composed as Snape tore at her robes. “Damn,” she gasped. She hadn’t remembered to put on an old set of robes when she learned he had been summoned.

Snape continued to sob uncontrollably, clumsily clawing at her, forcing her head down so he could sloppily kiss her face, jaw and neck. So frantic. So desperate. His fumblings filled him with self-loathing. He whimpered. He could not yet still himself. A torrent of emotion rushed forth. He hated this.

Poppy’s robes were soiled in blood and tears. She was being pulled down to Snape roughly. She struggled to get a hand free and extended her arm. “Accio wand!” This was the bit of wandless magic Poppy had worked hard to master, no doubt finding it handy more often than she liked. Her wand smacked into the palm of her hand and she immediately said, “Petrificus totalus!” Snape was frozen stiff. She looked at him with not so much pity as concern and sympathy. “I’m sorry I had to do that.”

Once stilled, a wave of shame and regret washed over Snape. Then rage for being so weak.

“I know what you’re thinking, Severus. You must stop that. You know better than to be ashamed before me. Best get it out now.” With a sigh, she said, “You’re as human as the rest of us.”

‘Damn Voldemort. Damn Dumbledore. Damn Poppy for being so damned understanding.

‘I mutilated and murdered tonight. I do not deserve, nor do I desire your understanding.’


It must have been an odd sight - hot tears flowing from Snape’s frozen eyes. He would have fumed with humiliation if he hadn’t already thoroughly humiliated himself tonight…as on other nights.

After a bit more fussing and caring for Snape’s wounds, Poppy spoke. “I think you may have calmed down enough. I’m going to release you now.”

‘I hate myself.’

“Finite incantatem.” Snape slumped back onto the exam bed and threw his arm across his face. Pomfrey clucked, “Now, now, Severus. Time to get you up and into the bath. You could use a good soak. Take note, Severus, I said soak and not sulk.” With that, Madam Pomfrey left to draw the bath.

Comments and Critiques are welcome and greatly appreciated. Flames must be funny and/or clever, or they will be deleted immediately.

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