Hard Bargain by seeker

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Severus Snape stared at the bland, determined, exceedingly small and quite lovely face six inches from his nose and tried to remember the last time he'd felt a pure emotion.

Nearly ten minutes of frantic thought later, the representative of the Faerie was looking more bored than stoic, and Snape had turned up nothing.

"I'm sorry," he finally admitted, "but in all my memory, I can find no unadulterated emotion. Everything I've felt, for as long as I can remember until this moment, has been complex. Complicated." He spread his hands helplessly, careful not to catch a gossamer wing with a stray gesture. "Mixed."

"In all your life you've never had a single, pure, over-riding emotion? Toward any other human being?" The voice was shockingly reverberant from such a small being. "Ever?"

He shook his head. He was being completely truthful to her.

If not to himself.

But some things were so deeply locked away that even had he known they were there, and truly wished to access them, it would have taken great effort to bring them forth.

Of course, given that he was dealing with the Faerie, and they drove a hard bargain, such determination was a must.

A tiny hand stretched forth and touched the center of his forehead. "It is there," the voice echoed in his head. "If you truly wish to obtain that which you seek, you will give us what we desire."

A flash of resentment passed through Snape, and away, leaving little residual emotion. He was accustomed to being used, by his parents when he was a boy, by his classmates when a student, by both Voldemort and Dumbledore as an adult. If the Faerie chose to use him to fill a void in themselves by siphoning away some emotional energy, then surely he could spare it.

He wasn't as sure they would want it once they had it, since the overwhelming majority of his emotions were negative in the extreme. But that was the price they demanded, and so he would attempt to provide it.

"Do not worry for our strength or our satisfaction," the voice answered his thoughts. "We take what you offer. Be warned you may not offer that which you expect."

This will hurt, he thought.

"Yes," the voice answered. "It may heal as well, but that is not our concern."

Before he could even think the cynical response that sentiment deserved, he was lost in memory.

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Sixteen, preternaturally mature and on the cusp of a life-changing choice, Severus Snape stared out over the Quidditch field at the disgustingly bright scarlet and gold and wondered why he even hesitated.

It was what he'd been raised for, after all. Bred for, if his father was to be believed. Why the money had been spent on his schooling, why his solitary habit and dour demeanor had been cultivated rather than punished, why his friendship with Lucius had been encouraged. Why he was allowed to study subjects others knew nothing about, and why he was rewarded with peace when he did what he was told.

There really WAS no choice. He was a follower of Lord Voldemort as those with whom he shared his deepest secrets were; the only step remaining to make it official was acceptance of the Dark Mark. Why he hesitated, he had no idea.

Then the sun glinted off glass, glanced off ruffled dark hair, shone on a wide, bright smile, and his heart clenched.

A year ago, James Potter had saved his life. Then turned around and made a mockery of the gift by pretending nothing had happened, as the Headmaster had made a mockery of the threat by doing the same. No one cared that an outcast Slytherin, disliked even within his own House, nearly died. The Gryffindors protected their own, and the Headmaster was a Gryffindor, and Severus was less than nothing.

To all of them except James. Who'd risked his life to save the one his friend, that bastard Black, had tried to kill, using his other friend, the subhuman werewolf, as the murder instrument.

He ignored the fact that he'd rather liked Remus until he'd nearly been ripped to shreds by him, as he shared most pureblooded wizards' detestation of dark creatures. While he was self-aware enough to know it was hypocritical in one of Voldemort's followers, he didn't care. Dumbledore was a criminally neglectful headmaster, Black was a vicious bastard, Remus was an animal ...

... And James had saved his life.

The squad landed, and made their way, laughing, toward the shed to put away their equipment before heading off to bathe and eat. Severus blended into the shadows and watched as James hung back a few steps, then made an excuse Severus couldn't hear from that distance and returned to the field. Moments later he picked up a scarf, no doubt the reason he'd told his friends he had to return. Instead of retracing his steps to join them, he walked into the shadows and stopped in front of Severus.

"All right, I'm here," he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and bravado with a trace of hesitation. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

His normally adept way with words abandoning him in the face of unaccustomed nerves, Severus shrugged one shoulder. Took his courage in his hands and straightened his spine. Closed the distance between them and lifted his face.

Covered James Potter's mouth with his own.

Kissed him with everything in his heart.

Nearly died from shock when he wasn't immediately knocked down.

In fact, James had dropped both his scarf and his broom. Hands now free, instead of strangling Severus as he'd half-expected, they buried themselves in his hair and angled his head to a more comfortable position, and the kiss continued.

The world disappeared for Severus, as for the first time in his life his brain wasn't busy calculating all the angles to the current situation. Rather, it was drowning in sensation. This was nothing like sex with Narcissa, or even Lucius. This was scent rising from warm flesh to make him dizzy. This was strength wrapping around him to hold him steady on knees suddenly gone weak. This was vertigo and intoxication without any nasty side effects. This was a tongue in his mouth and lips covering his that he never wanted to leave.

This, whether he believed it or not, was love.

"This is absolutely mad," James whispered against his lips.

"I don't care," Severus replied, tilting his head to kiss him again.

"I do," came a feminine voice with an undercurrent of sheer ice.

James froze, then drew away abruptly. Severus opened his eyes to see denial and shame already dissolving the heat behind the steam-edged glasses. The smallest flicker of fire deep inside smothered in that shame, as it accepted that denial.

"It was nothing," Severus said smoothly, stepping back and staring over James' shoulder at Lily. Accusing green eyes stared back, calling him the foul liar he was. "Merely a debt repaid."

James disentangled his hands from Severus' hair, disgust adding to the layer of emotions in his eyes, although whether it be at Severus' stated view of the kiss or with his own actions, Severus had no way of knowing. James shook his head and stepped back to join his girlfriend. Lily dropped one hand to her stomach, an unconscious gesture that told Severus much more than she knew. The darkness inside him was complete.

He'd had no chance before he'd even fallen. He was a fool to think otherwise, and whatever Severus might be, he tried never to be a fool.

"Nothing," he repeated, more strongly, then turned on his heel and left them there.

A rush of pure emotion filled him at once again being too little, too late. Never enough, for anyone. It was a complex wave, full of disappointment and heartbreak and fever and desire, frustration and acceptance and hatred and love.

He blinked.

Two years had passed.

He stared at the burnt out shell that had once been a home. At the scorch marks on the floors, the blood on the walls.

A pair of twisted eyeglasses, one lens broken, abandoned in the corner.

He didn't know whether to cry or vomit, and could do neither as Lucius watched him under cover of the night shadows. But whilst action was constricted, emotion ran freely, and it was neither complex nor difficult to understand.

All his thoughts and pain and wild loss combined to create a single torrent of pure, unadulterated regret running through his mind. What might have been had never been so completely destroyed, and it broke a heart he had too long denied having.

He blinked again, at the icy touch of tiny fingers on his cheek. In the moonlight he saw a single tear on the outstretched palm of the Faerie.

She looked pleased.

He thought, for a moment until he desperately controlled himself, that he might vomit where he stood. He'd so thoroughly blocked both the kiss and the killing from his mind it was a shock to recall it. No wonder he'd hated Harry as soon as he saw him.

Harry had James' mouth. And Lily's eyes.

"You have fulfilled our request, and we in turn fill yours."

The voice ringing in his ears brought him back to the present, as a tiny bag of precious dust was placed in his hand. He stared dully at it, nodding absently as the Faerie disappeared through the open window. He'd been told when he went looking that the Faerie drove a hard bargain.

As he walked slowly down into his dungeon to prepare his next potion, hard-won dust in his hand, he agreed that they had.

It wasn't worth the price.

END